


Novaks, Rebooted

by violue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel 3rd person POV, Castiel thinks he's straight, Cis Author, Claire is trans, F/F, F/M, Fictional Town, Incredibly Light Bondage, M/M, Military Veteran Dean Winchester, Misgendering, Polyamorous Sam Winchester, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Past Torture (NOT CLAIRE), Top Castiel, Top Dean Winchester, Trans Female Character, Transphobia, Unfavorable Characterization of Amelia Novak, shifting pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-14 09:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 56,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16910253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violue/pseuds/violue
Summary: A single father, his trans daughter, a whole new life in The Golden State.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Boy, do I have notes, I'd appreciate if you read them before proceeding.
> 
> 1.) I started writing this in 2016, finished writing it in 2017, didn't actually type it up until 2018, so it's been around a while, though characters from more recent canon were worked into the story in "post". Most of it was written prior to the 2016 election, and after what went down I decided to just... leave that out. I didn't want it infecting my writing, which honestly has been a lot harder coming since the election anyway.
> 
> 2.) The first several chapters deal heavily with Cas adapting to having a trans daughter, but this is still a Destiel fic, not a Claire-centric piece. There's some transphobia and misgendering, both intentional and unintentional, so if that's a trigger for you I would say skip this story. My tags/warnings can be found in the main info for the story, and **I don't add warnings before specific chapters.**
> 
> 3.) After some friend-related issues early on in the writing process, I developed some obnoxious Cis Guilt™, which had the important benefit of improving my sensitivity to others, but the downside of increasing my own fragility. I was trying so hard to toe the lines between sensitive, realistic, and fluffy, but I was scared I was doing this wrong. I don't write to hurt anyone, I write to make fun little worlds for Dean and Cas to fall in love. I didn't want to post this and be bombarded with comments yelling at me for the things I did wrong. I've had that happen before. But I finally got to a place where I'm ready to post this. I just need readers, especially trans readers, to understand that I took this seriously, that it was sensitivity-read by members of the trans community and cis friends with an eye for problematic-BS, but none of that guarantees that something in this story won't strike you the wrong way. If something does, please remember I'm a fragile human and that I truly tried my best. I'm not asking people to reassure me or keep their upset to themselves if I fucked up, I just need people to remember I'm a person with feelings, and to keep that in mind if something upsets you.
> 
> 4.) I try to keep characters somewhat true to original canon, but this narrative rather throws Amelia Novak's characterization under the bus. I feel like I should warn for that? Also, the narrative begins with names that the characters are not using later in the story. You'll see.
> 
> 5.) Many thanks to Kris, Lydie, Dmitri, and Elliot. (Am I forgetting anyone? Who else read this after I typed it up?)
> 
> 6.) This work is complete, but I'm posting chapter by chapter with no real schedule (but it'll probably be daily or close to daily), just because. It's been so long since I had a fic to serial-post!
> 
> 7.) Enjoy. :)

_Not so long ago, there was a family called the Novaks. The Novaks lived in Pontiac, Illinois. The “conservative” area, one might say. There was James Novak, who went by Jimmy. He was a timid but loyal radio ad-time salesman. There was Amelia Novak, a God-fearing and loving teacher. Then there was James Novak Junior, their shy and depressed son._

_James’ depression had come on slowly, so slowly that no one really realized it was happening. He cried sometimes, but people— especially young ones, cry. He spent less time with his friends, but sometimes friends grow apart. He fell behind in school, but school can get harder as one gets older. Eventually, though, Jimmy and Amelia did take notice, and did become concerned._ They encouraged James to talk to the youth pastor at their church for guidance _, but that seemed to make things worse. James stopped coming to church entirely, spent even more time in his room._

“ _Maybe,” Jimmy had said to his wife, “we should send him to a professional.”_

 _Amelia had scowled slightly. “Pastor Virgil_ is _a professional.”_

“ _You know what I mean, though. A professional. A psychiatrist.”_

“ _He should be able to find guidance through his_ parents _, through the church.”_

“ _It’s not_ working _, Amelia,” Jimmy said, exasperated. “I feel like…”_

_Amelia’s eyes watered. “Like we’re losing him?”_

“ _If a mental health professional can help, I think it’s worth trying. He’s worth it.”_

“ _You’re right,” Amelia said, nodding. “You’re right.”_

 

_And so, at fifteen James had gone into therapy, and gotten on a low dose of antidepressants. It took weeks to see any change. Jimmy didn’t have much experience with mental health care, he’d thought James would feel better right away, but that didn’t happen. Jimmy prayed for patience every day, and he prayed for James to hang on a little longer._

_Six weeks in, he realized James was making more eye contact than he used to._

_Nine weeks in, James started eating more meals at the table instead of in his room._

_Fourteen weeks in, James started doing better in school._

_He still wouldn’t come to church, he still wasn’t very social, but it was good progress, and Jimmy sent thanks to God every day for Dr. Anna Milton, and whatever it was she was saying to James in their sessions._

_At thirty-one weeks in, everything changed._

 

*

 

James has been a little quieter lately. It’s June, school just let out a few days ago, and James has spent most of the time since in his room. His silence is… different. Thoughtful, not so despairing. Jimmy is concerned, but not afraid like he was before James started seeing Dr. Milton. He gets the sense the silence is building up to something, though he can’t guess what.

Finally, on June sixteenth, James knocks on the door to Jimmy and Amelia’s bedroom and comes in, looking timid. Nervous. Jimmy sits up straighter in his bed, Amelia sets down her issue of Life & Style magazine.

“Hey, baby,” Amelia says gently.

“So…” James says, clearing his throat, “I have something to tell you.”

“It’s okay, James,” Jimmy says, “you can tell us anything.”

James flinches, and Jimmy desperately wants to understand why. “I thought about waiting until I was eighteen, but that’s like… nearly two more years of pretending that—” James sighs.

Amelia sucks in a sharp breath, clutching Jimmy’s hand in hers. Jimmy wonders if his son is about to tell them he’s gay. That would be—

“I’m a girl,” James says. “I’m a girl, I’m bisexual, and I’m an atheist.”

 

*

 

Everything Jimmy knew changed after that night. What he knew about his child, what he knew about his wife, and what he knew about himself.

Amelia was inconsolable for days, crying at the sight of James, demanding he take his words back, threatening to sue Dr. Milton for perverting her son’s mind… all manner of hysterical vitriol that Jimmy would not have thought her capable of had he not witnessed it himself.

Jimmy, meanwhile, was just relieved. Relieved to know what had been going on in James’ mind all this time, relieved that this was a problem with a solution. Maybe not a solution he could wrap his mind around right now, but there was a solution out there, things he could do for James to help him… her…

“‘Them’ works,” James says when Jimmy asks. “I like them and they for now. Maybe we can work from ‘him’ to ‘them’ and then from ‘them’ to ‘her’.”

“I can do that,” Jimmy says emphatically. He’s overcompensating for Amelia, but it’s hard not to do what he can to show James that someone is in his… her… _their_ corner.

James takes Jimmy’s hand, and the smile Jimmy gets is so _real,_ all the smiles James has given him in recent years pale in comparison.

“I’ll remind you,” James says. “It’s okay if you slip up, Dad. The fact that you’re willing to try, that’s… that means the world to me.”

“It won’t be just me trying, okay?” Jimmy says. “Your mother needs a little more time, and she’ll be right here with me. She’ll come around.”

 

*

 

Amelia doesn’t come around. After a week of drifting about the house like a ghost, she comes to Jimmy with a brochure, a place she wants to send James to for treatment.

“I don’t think he—” Jimmy grunts in frustration— “I don’t think _they_ need treatment. They seem a lot better.”

“ _He_ isn’t better, he wants to pretend he’s a _girl,_ Jimmy.”

“No, you can’t do that. James doesn’t want to be called ‘he’ anymore. Or James, actually, but they said ‘James’ is okay until they settle on a new name—”

“A new name, Jimmy? A _new name_? No, he’s going to use the name we picked out the day he was born. The day I screamed and I pushed until God helped me bring my son into the world. My  _son_ _,_ Jimmy.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of reading about the relationship between genitalia and identity, and I think—”

“ _STOP!_ ” Amelia yells. Jimmy startles, stepping back. Amelia never yells. “Stop talking like you’ve already accepted this! Stop acting like this is fine!”

“It’s not fine, Amelia! It’s not fine. I’m so scared for James. I’m scared of what dating will be like for them, and the hatred they’ll face, and… and do you _know_ the suicide rates for transgender youths?!”

“That’s why we take James _here,_ ” Amelia says, slapping her hand down on the brochure lying on the counter. “He’ll get better, and be _him_ again, and come back to… to God.”

Jimmy glances at the brochure and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. I know what that place is, our child is not going into _reprogramming._ This isn’t even legal, Amelia.”

“It’s legal in Indiana, where the center is.”

“We’re not doing this.”

“He’s _my_ child! I’m his mother, and I want what’s best for him!”

“I know you do,” Jimmy says, pleading. He grabs Amelia’s hands in his. “You love your child. You want James to be happy, to have a good life.”

“That’s all I want.”

“Then Amelia… you need to understand that this…” Jimmy puts one hand on the brochure. “This is not what is best for him… for them.”

Amelia’s eyes turn hard and angry, and Jimmy’s heart breaks at the sight of it. “We’re doing this, Jimmy.”

“No. I’m his—” Jimmy sighs. He keeps forgetting. “I’m _their_ father, and I have a say in this. We’re not doing this, Amelia.”

Jimmy folds his arms across his chest, glaring. He can feel it in the air, he can feel where this is going. If neither of them back down, their family won’t survive.

“I love my son, Jimmy. I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect him.”

Jimmy will not back down. “So will I.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Jimmy’s family does not survive. Or rather, his marriage does not survive. The divorce is relatively quick, but it is _ugly._ The division of friends, assets, _custody._ It is brutal, harsh, and never in a million years would Jimmy have expected his marriage to end, especially so bitterly.

Jimmy and Amelia plead their case for full custody to mediators, to lawyers, and finally to a judge. If there had been a different judge on the case, things might have gone differently; Jimmy’s life might be headed down another path. But they have Judge Pamela Barnes, and Judge Barnes awards sole custody of James Novak Jr. to Jimmy.

The changes come quickly after that. Their home, still owned by Amelia’s parents, is exchanged for a tiny apartment on the other side of town. Amelia drops out of their lives almost entirely, save for the monthly child support payments that show up in Jimmy’s account through direct deposit.

Things are difficult. James has lost their mother, their friends, and their home in a very small period of time. Jimmy’s parents are dead, he has no siblings, no other family… his friends are all church friends that don’t or _won’t_ understand his side. All they have is each other, and it’s hard. James is having problems at their latest school, Jimmy is miserable at work. But Jimmy knows… he _knows_ this is better than sending James away to Indiana. They can get through this. He knows it.

It’s during dinner, weeks after the divorce is finalized, that Jimmy decides to do something to help them both.

“What would you think about moving?” He asks over sandwiches and chips. He’s a dreadful cook, so most of their food is from the microwave or in sandwich form. “We could move out of Pontiac, or out of Illinois even.”

James sets their sandwich down. “Really?”

“I know that when you try to dress more… more like how you want… people treat you badly,” Jimmy says awkwardly. Too many people in town know James as a boy. When they try to wear clothes that aren’t… specifically meant for boys… there are people at their school that are unkind.

“Yeah. Sucks, but… at least at home…”

“You deserve more than ‘at least at home’,” Jimmy says sadly.

“I do? I do.”

“Now, I don’t want to talk you into leaving if you want to be here, but—”

“No, I do. I mean I don’t. I’m ready to stop being James… uh… no offense.”

Jimmy smiles. “None taken. Maybe we both could stop being James. Head somewhere new, start fresh. Be who we want to be. We could visit the courthouse tomorrow… have new identities by the end of the year.”

“Who do you want to be, Dad?”

Jimmy chuckles, frightened and relieved by the enormity of what’s to come. “I have no idea.”

“Sounds like you’ve really thought this through,” James says, rolling their eyes.

“I have, though,” Jimmy says. “If we went somewhere new, you’d be caught up in school in no time. And you wouldn’t have to be James. You could be… have you thought of a name? Jamie? Jane?”

James gets that patient smile on their face, the one Jimmy has come to know as their “you have it all wrong, but I love you for trying” smile.

“Nah, I wouldn’t really want something that sounded just like James,” they say, picking at their sandwich. “I was thinking of asking you to pick one.”

Jimmy frowns. “I’ve read that picking your new name is a significant part of—”

“I know. I retain vetoing power. But I want to see what you come up with. You’re my _dad_ , I love you. I’m okay with being named by my dad, just… not James.”

Jimmy’s eyes are watering, just a little. “I’m… honored. Any other stipulations? Are names that are… uh… _gendered_ okay?”

“No names that you’d give to a boy. I mean… I’m not saying names can only be male or female… but I think I’d really like a girl’s name. Something people would hear and automatically think ‘she’. But _not_ Jane. Or Jennifer. Actually, let’s just steer away from J’s entirely.”

“Can do. You know,” Jimmy says, smiling, “your mother and I wanted to be surprised with your gender.”

James grins, and it’s so _real._ “Pretty sure I delivered on _that_.”

“What I mean is, we didn’t ask about your gender… or …um, _assigned_ gender ahead of time.” Jimmy has been doing a lot of reading online, trying to understand and familiarize himself with some of the common terminology in the trans community, but a lot of it feels so foreign on his tongue. “We each picked out names, though. We thought we’d settle on whatever felt right once you were born.”

“What did Mom pick?”

“James Jr. was her choice, she liked the tradition of it. Her girl name was Magdalena.”

James raises their eyebrows. “I definitely don’t feel like a Magdalena. What were _your_ choices?”

“I wanted Ezekiel for a boy, Claire for a girl.”

James nods. “I knew it. I _knew_ you’d have a good name. I’ve been trying out names in my head, you know? Looking for one that feels right. I figured if I found one I liked, I’d tell you. One week I was Kimberly, then for two days I was Anna, like Dr. Milton, then Lydia, Kristina, Heather… for half a day I was Persephone. I liked the idea of Elizabeth… but for a middle name. Oh… Dad, it’s _perfect,_ I think I really like it! Claire Elizabeth Novak!”

“You want to keep Novak?”

“I do. I like Novak.”

“Claire Elizabeth Novak,” Jimmy repeats. “Let’s give it a couple of weeks, shall we? And after that, we can see about making it legal.”

“I’m so excited. I’m probably about to cry, so you know.”

Jimmy smiles and sighs. “Me too, Claire.”

  


*

  


Every day for a week, Claire wears a sticker on her clothes when she’s at home. It’s a nametag sticker, the kind with “Hello, my name is” at the top, and in the blank space, Claire writes her new name, and “(I am your daughter)” underneath. It seems silly at first, but it actually really helps Jimmy remember to stop thinking of her as James, and to remember her new pronouns.

There are slip ups, of _course._ Claire was James for nearly seventeen years, it will take more than a week and a gung-ho attitude to adjust to the change. Claire remains patient, though. Almost bafflingly patient, given all she’s going through.

“How are you so patient?” Jimmy asks, after accidentally calling her ‘James’ for the second time that day. “Aren’t you frustrated?”

“It sucks to hear, especially as I start to distance myself more from the name, but I know it’s more of a… muscle memory thing. I’ve talked to Dr. Milton about it, she told me to remember that it’s not you disregarding my identity.” Jimmy nods, and Claire shrugs. “I’ve waited years, maybe my whole life for this… and it’s _happening._ I know it’s going to take a while for things to settle, but there’s progress, Dad, and it’s… it’s fucking exciting.”

  


*

  


“I think I want to change my name too. Well… I don’t think. I know.”

“Really?”

“It will be easier to get distance from your former name if it’s not _my_ name, I think.”

“Yeah, but… you’ve been Jimmy for like forty years.”

“Thirty-seven. I’m thirty-seven years old.”

“You and Mom had me pretty young, huh?”

“I was twenty, your mother was twenty-one. We’d already been married two years by then, so…”

“Do you miss her, Dad?”

“I—”

“Be honest.”

“I’d only dated two other girls before your mother, and I was so _young_ then. I’ve been with your mother just over half my life, and… that’s a long time. A long time to be with someone and then no longer have them in your life.”

“Yeah, but do you _miss_ her?”

“I miss my marriage, I miss who she was before she found herself presented with a reality she couldn’t accept. I miss sleeping next to someone who loved me. But… after the things she said… what she tried to do… I’m not sure that I miss _her._ ” It’s hard to say that, but Jimmy doesn’t want to lie.

“Same, I guess. I wish she’d taken things like you did, I wish the three of us could have been a family with me as… _me._ But… everyone knows about that place in Indiana. People go there, and they die. Either they get forced to deny their identity to the point where they’re a shadow of who they should be, or… or it’s too much and they take their own life. I know it’s linked to a lot of suicides. And my mom… _my mom_ would rather send me there than call me her daughter. So, I don’t know… it’s like… I miss her _so much_ , because she’s my _mom,_ you know? But I also kind of never want to see her again. It’s confusing.”

“Have you talked to Dr. Milton about that?”

“Yeah… she told me that you don’t have to like family just because they’re family. So, I love Mom, I hope she finds happiness. But I don’t like her.”

Jimmy pulls Claire close, kissing the top of her messy brown hair. “You want to pick my new name?”

“Really?”

“It’s only fair. I picked yours.”

Claire grins up at him. “I’ll pick an awesome name for you, Dad.”

“Well just like you, I retain veto power, so no naming me after those boys in One Dimension.”

Claire sighs. “It’s One _Direction._ And that’s too bad, I can totally see you as a Liam.”

  


*

  


The next morning, Claire comes bounding into the kitchen, smiling wide. “I’ve got it! I’ve _so_ got it!”

“You’ve got what?” Jimmy says from the stove.

Claire comes over, frowning down at Jimmy’s pan. “I think those eggs are _way_ past done, Dad.”

“I’m… still getting the hang of this. I went from living with my parents, to living with your mother, and sadly I never really developed substantial culinary skills.”

“I can see that,” Claire says, taking the pan off the stove and dumping the eggs in the trash. “Didn’t they make you take home-ec in high school?”

“I took home-ec… your mother helped me quite a bit,” Jimmy says, taking more eggs out of the fridge.

“Oh my _God,_ did she do your homework _for_ you?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I sewed a dress for her, an _entire_ dress. We helped each other.” Jimmy starts trying to crack an egg on the rim of the pan, and Claire stops him.

“No. God, no, no, no. Don’t crack an egg like that…” she turns the stove down. “And don’t have the pan this hot. Jeez, no wonder we’ve been eating cereal and sandwiches all this time.” Claire holds the pan up. “This has burned eggs stuck to it!”

“I’ll get the hang of it,” Jimmy says, opening the cabinet to grab the cereal instead. “Didn’t you say you had something?”

“Oh. Right! I’ve got your name!”

Jimmy pauses in pouring the cereal into bowls. “Oh?”

“Castiel!”

Jimmy knows that name. A corrupted form of Cassiel. “The angel?”

“Yes! Said to preside over Thursdays.”

Jimmy smiles. “You were born on a Thursday.”

“ _And_ I came out on a Thursday, so that’s two births, and you were great, you know? You made me feel safe and loved for who I am, and… anyway, I think it’s perfect for you.”

“I thought you were an atheist?”

“I am. But _you’re_ not, and besides… I can be an atheist and still have an appreciation for theology.”

“I think it’s a beautiful name, Claire. I would be honored to bear it.”

Claire beams. “You mean it, right? Don’t go with it because you don’t want to hurt my feelings, this is going to be your _name._ It’s going to go on your ID, your mail, your headstone…”

“That’s comforting, thank you.”

“What? Picturing Claire on a headstone helped _me_ decide on it, so…”

Jimmy rolls his eyes. Teenagers.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

A lot of time passes between that day and the day they actually leave Pontiac. Paperwork is filed with the court for legal name changes, which takes time, newspaper notifications, meetings… but they’d both rather have their new identities _before_ moving, so they wait. Jimmy keeps going to work, Claire keeps going to school and tries not to get into fights.

Claire is still considering whether or not she’ll want to eventually tangle with things like hormones and surgeries, things to help her cope with what Jimmy’s read is called “gender dysphoria”. He’d tried reading up on the surgeries, but he got a bit overwhelmed and opted to worry about that later. Right now they can’t afford surgery anyway, and Claire decided she wanted to wait until her life was more settled before trying hormone replacement therapy that could throw her emotions into chaos. So, that’s all on the backburner. But what Jimmy _can_ do now is help Claire with some of the things she wants for her appearance. Some new clothes, a bit of makeup, and Claire really, really wants hair extensions.

They start with the hair, and Jimmy watches with fascination as a hairdresser in Chicago transforms Claire’s unkempt mop of brown hair into a head of long, blonde tresses. He also takes detailed notes as the hairdresser, Samandriel, explains care and maintenance.

“I’ve had a lot of people in your situation come in, Claire, but I don’t think any of them came with such a determined father,” Samandriel says, grinning at Jimmy.

“Given half a chance, my dad will put his nerd hat on for just about anything,” Claire says with a smirk.

“I just… don’t know much about beauty, and Claire’s mother isn’t in the picture… I need to know these things,” Jimmy says.

“YouTube,” Samandriel replies, trimming the ends of Claire’s new hair.

“YouTube?”

“I do a drag show on weekends, and when I first got to Chicago I didn’t have anyone to help me with my look… but I found loads of great tips on YouTube.”

Jimmy writes “YOUTUBE” on his legal pad. “That’s great, thank you.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, Claire, is… passing a concern for you?” Samandriel asks.

Jimmy’s a bit lost on this one. “Passing?”

Claire looks up at him. “Passing is like… looking like society’s idea of the gender you identify with. So like if some random person sees me on the street and thinks ‘this is a girl’, then I’m ‘passing,’” Claire says, holding up her hands to make air quotes. “Anyway, yeah I guess it’s kind of a concern. I don’t want dumbass ignorant people to look at me and think ‘that’s a boy dressed like a girl’, I just want them to see… _me._ ”

“In that case, I’ve got tips. Remember to go easy with the makeup. My cousin Muriel is trans, and she used to go out with about a _pound_ of makeup on her face. Conturing, airbrushing, it was a _production._ So instead of… blending in, which is what she wanted, she stood out, found herself getting a complex about it, really. But she’s found her balance now, that sweet spot between Plain Jane, and _me_ when I’m in full drag. Start small, work your way up.” Samandriel starts curling the ends of Claire’s extensions.

“Start small, work my way up. Any other tips?”

“Padded bra. When Muriel was still pre-surgery, pre-HRT… she loved her padded bras. But keep it tasteful, size wise, kiddo. And when you’re dating? Disclose safely. In public, or with a friend, _especially_ if you don’t know how they feel about all us glorious folks under the LGBT rainbow.”

“Did someone hurt your cousin?” Claire asks. Jimmy sees a flicker of fear in her eyes; he wishes he could tell her she has no reason to be afraid.

“He _tried,_ but Muriel is a Krav Maga enthusiast, so…” Samandriel lets out a snort. “Self defense is another thing to remember. I know it’s depressing and scary, but…”

“I bet I’d look _great_ in a karate gi.”

Samandriel laughs, ruffling Claire’s hair then smoothing it back into place. “Most importantly, surround yourself with good, supportive people if you can. If people can’t accept you for you, kick them to the curb. Now…” Samandriel spins Claire around in her chair so that she’s facing a large mirror. “What do you think?”

“Holy fucking shit!” Claire yelps, eyes wide. She winces, catching Jimmy’s eyes in the mirror. “I mean… holy fudging shoot?”

Samandriel pats Claire on the shoulder. “Nice save.”

  
  


*

  
  


They hit a couple of stores, and as much as Jimmy would love to buy everything in every store for Claire, he just doesn’t have it in his savings. They buy makeup and sports bras that are on sale, and some things that apparently are meant to pad Claire’s bras. They look like uncooked chicken. They hit secondhand clothing stores to augment Claire’s wardrobe. Claire doesn’t load up on pink clothes or frilly dresses like Jimmy was sort of expecting, but she does branch out beyond the baggy jeans and shirts she’s been favoring ever since Jimmy and Amelia started letting her pick her own clothes. She gets closer fitting tops in a variety of colors, jeans with cute patterns embroidered on the back pockets, lots of purple. The only hiccup comes when Claire realizes she needs to see how the clothes look over a stuffed bra, and she has to try everything on again once Jimmy makes a trip to the car.

Ah, the car. This is Jimmy’s last week with his car, actually. He’s trading it to a dealership on Friday for an older car and a boost to his bank account so they can afford furniture when they move. The car he’d settled on is forty years old and an appalling shade of gold, but it runs great, and that’s what matters. The important thing is they’ll have more money for a deposit on a rental and they can leave behind the terrible furniture they’ve been using since moving out of Amelia’s home. They’ve been sitting on folding chairs and sleeping on mattresses with no bed frames because in the back of Jimmy’s mind, he knew their time in Pontiac would come to an end. Claire has decided not to go back to school now that leaving is certain and her entire look is different. They’re going to leave, they just have to decide on _where._

“West,” Claire says between bites of her cheeseburger at Burger King. “Definitely west. Somewhere like Portland or Seattle. Or San Francisco!”

“San Francisco is a _very_ expensive place to live… but maybe somewhere near there.”

Claire turns her attention to her fries before answering. “I don’t think I’d want to live in a place _that_ big anyway. I thought about Chicago at one point, but… I think I really want to just leave Illinois behind. But somewhere liberal for sure. Blue states. Somewhere with trans support groups.”

“Is that something you’re interested in attending?”

“Maybe. Talking to Samandriel made me think about how it might be good to meet other people like me.”

“Mm, that’s a good point. I’m so glad we chose his salon, he was very kind.”

“And good at his job,” Claire says, fiddling with her long, blonde strands. “What do you think, Castiel?”

“I think it— Castiel? What happened to _Dad_?”

“You’ve been good about helping me get used to my name, I was thinking I should do the same.”

Jimmy frowns. “I don’t like it.”

“The name?”

“Not being ‘Dad’.”

“We can go back to ‘Dad’ later, Castiel, I promise.”

“Oh. Good, I thought maybe you were entering the ‘I’m essentially an adult, so I’ll refer to my parents by their first names’ phase.”

“That’s a phase?”

“My parents hated it.”

“Well don’t worry, you’ll always be Dad to me, _Castiel_.”

“And you’ll always be my Claire-bear.”

“ _Claire-bear_?” Claire says, looking affronted. “You know what?” she says, gesturing at Jimmy with a french fry, “I’ll allow it.”

  
  


*

  
  


They have new ID’s now, so Jimmy… _Castiel_ supposes it’s official. It also seems like a waste of money, as they’ll need new state ID’s after they move. They put their old ID’s in a fireproof box with things like birth certificates and old photo albums, just in case… well, just in case. Now that Claire has her new ID, her new (used) clothes, and her new hair, she needs a bit of distance from the reminders of “before”.

“It’s not forever,” she tells Castiel, “I just… don’t want to think about James for a while. Or Mom. But it’s okay if you wanna like… look at the photo albums or whatever by yourself. I know underneath your stoic exterior you’re just a big sentimental dope.”

Castiel smiles. “We’ll have to get some pictures taken then, because I refuse to live in a home that’s devoid of family photos.”

Claire sighs, staring down at the box full of their past. “Does she know we’re leaving?”

“Not yet. I have a letter drafted, it’s just missing a destination.”

“Maybe we should throw a dart at a map of the US and move wherever it lands.”

“We’re not doing that.”

“Come on, Castiel, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“What if it lands on one of those states with ‘bathroom bills’?”

“Oh… _yuck_. Okay. Well, we need to pick a place. I need to get back into school, and you need… a social life.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You need friends!”

“I have friends…” Castiel sighs. “Had.”

“Exactly. And no offense, but I need to hang out with people my own age.”

“Am I not young and hip enough to hang out with?” Castiel jokes.

“Yesterday when I talked about getting a Selena album, you said her death was a real shame.” 

“I didn’t _know_ there was another Selena, alright?”

“Because you’re old and uncool. But… you’re my favorite cishet male in the whole world.”

“I… thank you, I think.”

  
  


*

  
  


“Jasperville.”

Castiel refuses to look away from his grilled cheese sandwich for even a second, lest it burn. “That’s a character in Twilight, right?”

“What? Oh my _God,_ Dad— Castiel, that’s Jasper _Hale_.”

“Oh. What’s Jasperville?”

“It’s a town in California. Orange County.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s a good sized town, population is just under twenty-five thousand, good schools, LGBT outreach up the wazoo, sunny. Kind of spendy, but not LA or San Francisco spendy.”

Castiel gently turns the sandwich over. Golden brown on one side, now the other… “And you like it?”

“Yeah. I mean it’s not _here._ Illinois isn’t so bad, and Chicago is great, but… like I said a while back I really just want to go somewhere completely different. I always worry we might run into someone from my school, or our church, or _Mom_ … and I feel like if we stay in the state I’ll never stop feeling that way.”

Castiel frowns, finally looking at Claire. “I’m sorry it’s been taking so long for us to leave, Claire. The court stuff took longer than I thought, and… I’m sorry.”

“I mean I get it. This has been your home for forty—”

“Thirty-seven.”

“Thirty-seven years. But ever since we decided to leave, I feel like I’m in… stasis, like I’m waiting for my life to start. But I also get that this is your home, and that it’s hard to move and leave that behind.”

“When I went grocery shopping today, I saw Roger. Do you remember him?”

“Of course I do.”

“When he saw me in the same aisle as him, he grabbed his son’s hand and rushed away as fast as he could.”

“Dad…”

“We were best friends in high school. He was the one that talked me into going to college when you were three… so I could get a better job. He helped watch you, helped me study… and now… now I’m the person he runs away from in public. I won’t be sad to leave… all my friends think I failed you by not sending you to Indiana, this town is full of… reminders of a life that I no longer fit into.” Castiel belatedly realizes sharing this information might be putting an unfair burden on Claire. Wow, he really _does_ need to get some friends.

“But you know they’re wrong, right?” Claire says, voice slightly pleading. “You didn’t fail me. I was in a dark place, Dad… a _real_ dark place. If you'd reacted like Mom… I don’t know that I’d still be here.”

Castiel knows exactly what Claire is getting at, and his heart breaks to hear it. “Oh, Claire…”

“I’m not trying to like… freak you out or anything, I just need you to know that you didn’t fail me— you helped save me.”

Castiel nods and smiles. “So… Jasperville. Do you feel good about Jasperville?”

“I feel _awesome_ about Jasperville.”

“Alright, Jasperville.”

Claire’s nose wrinkles. “I think your sandwich is burning.”

Castiel looks at the pan, sighing when he sees thin wisps of smoke curling out from under his sandwich. So close.

  
  


*

  
  


They leave just a handful of days after Christmas. They don’t own all that much, a lot of Castiel’s furniture is still at Amelia’s house, and they never quite _settled_ at the apartment. Once it’s time to go, it takes less than a day for them to pack up their lives; clothes bagged, belongings boxed up, pitiful furniture left on the curb with a cardboard sign that reads ‘FREE’ in red marker.

It’s odd, looking at a box labeled “Castiel’s books” and understanding that Castiel is _him_. He’ll be leaving Jimmy behind now. He’d still been going by Jimmy at work, but he’d given his two weeks, left with very little notice from his co-workers, and now… no more Jimmy. It’s sad, like Jimmy Novak is someone that died, and it’s sadder still that there’s no one to mourn him. He hasn’t spoken to Amelia since before the divorce was finalized, every last one of his friends have forsaken him, he’s not welcome at his church, and he never really connected with anyone at work. Kind of pathetic, really.

Maybe Castiel Emmanuel Novak will have a better go of things than James Walter Novak.

Claire has one final appointment with Dr. Milton, and she comes out with a long list of mental health resources in and around Jasperville.

“I’m going to miss Dr. Milton,” Claire says, gazing out the window of Castiel’s new (very used) Lincoln Continental. “She’s good at what she does.”

“Hopefully the next one will be too.”

“She gave me a pretty extensive list… places that cost less while you’re finding work, support groups, stuff like that. I have a really good feeling about Jasperville.”

“Well then,” Castiel says, starting up the car, “let’s get moving.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

It’s not all that hard to leave Pontiac once they get going. Castiel casts a few lingering glances at familiar sites he might not see again, particularly his boyhood home, but after months of drifting like a specter on the fringes of his former life, saying goodbye isn’t that difficult.

California is pretty far from Pontiac, the directions Castiel printed out give him an estimated driving time of thirty-one hours, so this journey will take two, probably three days.

“I could drive part of the way,” Claire offers, “we’d get to Jasperville faster.”

“Did you sneak off and get your driver’s license when I wasn’t looking, then?”

Claire’s a competent enough driver, but she failed the written part of the exam when she took it last year, and she hasn’t tried again yet. It was just a couple of weeks before she came out, Castiel assumes she was perhaps a bit unfocused during the test.

“Come on, you _know_ I can drive.”

“Yes, and when we get pulled over, I can say to the officer ‘I know he has an expired permit and no license, but you have my word he’s a good driver’,” Castiel says with a chuckle. Claire doesn’t respond, and when Castiel looks over at her, she looks sad. “Don’t be sad, when we’re settled in California, I’ll help you study.”

“It’s not that, it’s just… you called me ‘he’. Twice.”

“What? No I— I did.” Castiel pulls over in the highway’s emergency parking lane, hands gripping the wheel tight as the car idles.

“It’s okay, Dad, I’m not pissed… it just hurts to hear. Especially now that I’m all… Claire’d up.”

“I am _so_ sorry, Claire.” Every time he slips up, does what Claire has told him is called “misgendering”, Castiel feels like a failure.

“You look more upset than I do.”

“I’m your father, I’m meant to protect you, not—”

“Okay okay, calm down, I’m fine.”

“You do neither of us any favors by downplaying your feelings.”

“I’m not.” Castiel casts Claire a despairing look. She sighs. “Or maybe I am, but I don’t think you slipping into Kicked Puppy Mode does us any favors either.”

“I don’t have a _Kicked Puppy Mode_.”

“You do, and yeah, being misgendered hurts my feelings, but it was a mistake… and while you’re spiraling into a fit of paternally charged self-loathing and cis guilt, I’m the one stuck in a car with you, worrying that my pain is hurting your feelings.”

Castiel feels like he's been struck by a bolt of lightning. He _is_ making this about himself. That certainly won’t do. “You're right, Claire, you're right. Well, I’m still sorry.”

“Sorry enough to let me drive?”

Castiel pulls back onto the road. “No.”

  
  


*

  
  


They travel for ten hours before they reach Lexington, Nebraska at eleven at night, hungry and exhausted. They eat their weight in curly fries at Arby’s before heading to an Econo-Lodge.

“Are you alright sharing a bed?” Castiel asks as they climb out of the Continental.

“You want to share a bed?”

“I was thinking it would be cheaper… we might not find a place in Jasperville right away, which would mean staying in motels… which would eat up my savings…”

“I’m surprised you’re willing, didn’t you once tell me I snored like a lawnmower?”

Castiel sighs. “You _do,_ but I’m worried that if I’m not frugal now, I’ll regret it later.”

Claire shrugs. “Well _you_ don’t snore, so it’s no sweat off my balls.”

Castiel grimaces, at Claire, who grimaces back.

“I don’t know how to respond to that.”

“I mean I _have_ balls, so…” Claire stares down at herself. “I feel like we’ve gone to a weird place, wanna pretend the past minute never happened?”

“ _Desperately_.”

Claire snorts, grabbing her backpack out of the backseat of the car. “Okay let’s get a room.”

The man at the check-in counter unsubtly eyes Claire up and down as he waits for the system to boot up so they can purchase a room. Castiel’s never really been in a fight, but he’s vividly picturing lunging across the counter and punching the man in the face.

“If you could stop undressing her with your eyes,” he hisses while Claire fiddles with some brochures, “I would appreciate it.”

The man, whose name tag reads ‘Cole’, grins at Castiel. “You one of those jealous types?” He starts typing at the computer. “Don’t blame you, she’s a pretty one.”

Murder is a sin. Murder is a mortal sin. Murderers get thrown in prison. Castiel will not kill this man. “That is my seventeen year old _daughter,_ ” he growls.

Cole looks like he just swallowed a live bee. “Oh, Jesus. Oh, _Jesus._ I am so sorry. Oh fuck.” He slaps a room key down on the counter. “Please, just… take it. Free of charge.”

Castiel doesn’t say a word, just snatches the key off the counter and storms over to Claire.

“So is this what I have to look forward to now?” Claire says as they walk to their room. “Skeevy pervs perving on me perv style?”

Castiel’s shoulders sag. “You heard that?”

“Every awkward word. At least we got a free room out of it.”

“I don’t even want to sleep here.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not like we’ll ever see this place again.”

That doesn’t make Castiel want to find Cole’s car and slash his tires any less, but he lets it go.

They take turns with the shower and crawl into bed, exhausted.

“Know what this reminds me of?” Claire says, snuggling against her pillow.

Castiel tries to snuggle against his pillow as well, but his pillow case is on the scratchy side. “What?”

“That week they talked about Hell in Sunday school, and Pastor Raphael forgot he was talking to _kids_ and scared the shit out of us with all the fire and brimstone crap. I was scared to sleep for weeks, and you’d come in every night and read to me until I fell asleep. Every night until I wasn’t scared anymore. You remember?”

Castiel smiles. He does remember. He grew to look forward to reading Claire to sleep, and part of him had mourned when she’d stopped being afraid to sleep alone. “Do you want a bedtime story?”

“Kind of, honestly.”

When Claire doesn’t follow up with “just kidding!” Castiel makes his way out to the Continental, pulling open the box of books he has in the back seat.

He reads out loud from The Fellowship of the Ring for five minutes, maybe less before Claire interrupts. “Do you think I’m going to Hell, Dad?”

Castiel’s jaw drops. He sets the book down. “I thought… I thought you don’t believe in that stuff.”

“I don’t. Most of the time. I… I’m just wondering if you think I’m going to Hell when I die. For being trans. And bi. And mostly an atheist.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I am not Pastor Raphael, I believe in a benevolent and loving God. I don’t think he would make you as you are and then punish you for it.”

“Yeah? Mom probably thinks I’m going to Hell.”

Castiel would love to disagree, but it would be a lie. He and Amelia learned early on that their personal idea of what was “sin” didn’t quite match up. No marriage is perfect. Eventually they learned what topics were best left not discussed. Amelia wouldn’t begrudge Castiel’s more liberal beliefs so long as Claire was brought up in Amelia’s church. It hadn’t seemed so bad at the time, but if Castiel knew then what he knows now, he’d never have agreed to it.

“Well, what makes more sense to you? A God that loves His children so long as they are generally good to others, or a God that punishes His children for what makes them unique?”

“No God at all makes the most sense to me, but… I like your God a lot better than Pastor Raphael’s… than Mom’s.”

“Well, he likes you too, whether you believe in him or not.”

Claire smiles, closing her eyes. “Cool.”

  
  


*

  
  


They get a bit of a late start, but still manage about twelve hours of travel. Twelve hours of Claire singing along to pop songs Castiel’s never heard before and practicing what she calls her “chick voice” while she talks. She only asks to drive eight times, so it’s an improvement over yesterday. They both spend a great deal of time gaping at the scenery as they go further and further west. This is all new to them; Castiel’s never gone beyond the midwestern states surrounding Illinois, and Claire’s never been out of Illinois at all.

If he had the funds, Castiel would make this a real trip, with sight-seeing, tourist traps, the works. As it is, they’re mostly just seeing highways, rest stops, and fast food places.

“I should have prepared us healthy snacks for this journey,” Castiel says, gazing at their dinner with dismay.

They’re at a Taco Bell in Utah, where ten dollars goes a damn long way, apparently. It’s an impressive amount of food, but it certainly isn’t the sort of thing Castiel wants Claire eating regularly.

“Are you kidding?” Claire says, flicking shredded lettuce off the front of her shirt, “this is _awesome_. You know how Mom was about fast food. A few days or weeks of cheap food won’t kill us, I promise.”

“I suppose.”

“That mean you’ll be learning to cook?”

“Are my wonderful sandwiches not enough?”

“I’m a teenager. I need variety, or my mental and emotional growth will be compromised.”

“I’m fairly certain you just made that up.”

Claire tears open a packet of hot sauce. “ _Maybe._ ”

  
  


*

  
  


They go to bed fairly early, but Castiel spends ninety minutes reading more from The Fellowship of the Ring while Claire lies on her side, curled up around her beige motel pillow.

“Did you send the letter to Mom?”

“I did. I told her the town we’d be heading for, and that I couldn’t provide an address yet.”

“Okay,” Claire says, gripping her pillow tighter.

“It’s okay to miss her, Claire.”

“She kind of hardcore broke my heart, I don’t _want_ to miss her, you know?”

Castiel nods sadly. He _does_ know.

  
  


  
  


 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *warning for a brief antisemitic comment from a throwaway character

  
  


“So… now what?”

They’re parked on the side of the road, in front of a large wooden sign that’s been lacquered to Hell and back.

  
  


****JASPERVILLE WELCOMES YOU****

***Population: 24,892***

  
  


It’s just after four in the afternoon, and maybe sixty-five degrees out. It’s cool, but not nearly as cold as Illinois, which was sitting at forty degrees when they left on Tuesday.

“I suppose we get dinner, find a motel, rest… then I start looking at schools and apartment listings. Oh, and see what places are hiring. And look up the places on Dr. Milton’s list… look into new state IDs, find a—”

“Woah, woah, _jeez,_ I’m sorry I asked.”

“I suppose it is a bit overwhelming when I say it out loud. I have a list.”

“Okay, how about for now we do those first three?”

Castiel takes out his phone and pulls up a list of area restaurants. “How about to celebrate our arrival, we go somewhere that _doesn’t_ have a dollar menu?”

“Sounds good to me.”

There are plenty of restaurants in Jasperville, but Castiel doesn’t want to spend _too_ much, so he looks for places on the lower end of the price spectrum. He finds one with fair prices and great reviews; Harvelle’s Roadhouse Diner.

“This reviewer says Harvelle’s have the best mozzarella sticks they’ve ever had.”

“Oh man, I am _so_ sold.”

Harvelle’s is a bar and grill about four miles from the Jasperville welcome sign. There’s a sign on the door declaring that minors aren’t permitted after ten at night, so Castiel has a feeling this place is on the versatile side. It’s mostly families when they walk in, and Castiel smiles when he eyes two young women sharing a plate of onion rings and making doe eyes at each other. That’s definitely something he didn’t see often back home. Livingston County was more conservative than not.

“I already like it here,” Claire says, nudging Castiel.

There’s no hostess stand, so Castiel and Claire grab a booth, taking in their surroundings as they wait to be waited on. It’s large but cozy, lots of mahogany stained pine and framed paintings on the wall. The paintings are lovely, mostly landscapes with a sort of surrealist energy, and every one that Castiel can see from his seat has the same “DW” in the corner. The artist uses such warm colors, every painting feels a little like a summer sunset.

“Welcome to Harvelle’s!”

Castiel tears his eyes away from a painting of a boulder in the middle of a dry field so he can look at their server, eyes widening slightly. Good gracious, he’s tall.

“Damn, they grow em’ _big_ in California,” Claire says, because Castiel apparently raised her with no manners. Their waiter bursts into startled laughter, loud, warm, and turning a few heads.

“Kansas born, actually,” he says, grinning. “But years of that California sun had me growing like a weed.”

“We’re from the midwest too, just came from Illinois,” Castiel says.

“No kidding? What brings you to Jasperville?”

“Looking for a fresh start.”

“Well this is a great place for that, so long as you don’t miss seeing snow too much.”

Castiel chuckles. “We’ll learn to live without it.”

“Good! So, I’m Sam,” the server says, tapping the nametag pinned to his apron.

“Your nametag says ‘Jo’,” Claire says

Sam looks down. “How did that even…” he unpins the nametag, pockets it. “So, do you know what you want, or would you like a little bit to decide?”

“We’ll need a few minutes,” Castiel says, “but I know we want an order of mozzarella sticks to start.”

“Awesome! We have _great_ mozzarella sticks, man.” Sam raps his knuckles on the table twice. “I’ll give you a few minutes with your menus, then!”

Castiel picks up his menu as Sam moseys away. “Very friendly.”

“And cute!”

Castiel narrows his eyes at Claire. “And _far_ too old for you.”

“Relax,” Claire says, opening her menu, “I’m so not ready to date. I’ve got settling to do, therapy to have—”

“Pepper spray to buy…”

“Exactly. What about you?”

Castiel glances to where Sam is swapping nametags with a blonde waitress. “Uh, I don’t think he’s quite my type.”

“Very funny, _Dad,_ I meant dating in general. I know it hasn’t been _that_ long since the divorce, but…”

“I wouldn’t be against the idea. But… later. When we have a home, and I have a job, and I’ve maybe done some research.”

“ _Research_?”

“My last date was a very long time ago, Claire. Perhaps things are different now.”

“Well, there’s apps.”

“Apps.”

“For your phone. You make a profile, find women in your area, do the dating thing.”

“That sounds so… deliberate.”

“ _Deliberate._ What, do you want to find a date on accident?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says with an annoyed huff, “pick something for your damn dinner.”

“Ooo, you said _damn,_ ” Claire says, smirking.

  
  


*

  
  


They both end up ordering bacon cheeseburgers and fries, and munch happily on hot, gooey mozzarella sticks while they wait for the main course.

“These are _amazing,_ ” Claire gushes, “I’m going to eat them every day forever.”

“I have a feeling your body would eventually start to object to a diet consisting solely of breaded, deep-fried cheese.”

“Party pooper.”

“I’m just trying to spare you from a future of constipation.”

“ _DAD!_ ”

  
  


*

  
  


Dinner is delicious, much better than both the fast food they were having on the road, and Castiel’s attempts at home cooking. The burgers are well seasoned and juicy, the fries are crisp and salty, and Sam brings them free root beer floats as a sort of welcome gift.

“Holy crap, people here are friendly,” Claire says.

Sam smiles. “It’s a scheme, really. This is how Ellen Harvelle ropes in new regulars. All part of her plan.”

“Well,” Castiel says, leaning forward to take his straw in his mouth, “tell Mrs. Harvelle her plan is succeeding.”

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel finds a decently priced motel on his phone as they eat, and after the bill is settled they make their way there, bellies full, spirits high. The motel clerk gives them a cheesy wink when Castiel pays for their room, and Castiel wonders if saving twenty-five dollars is really worth people thinking he’s dating his daughter.

“Do people think you’re like… my sugar daddy, or what?”

“Sugar d— _Claire,_ please never say that again.”

“Come on, it’s funny!”

“If we intend to live in the area, I’d rather not give people the wrong impression.”

“Yeah, yeah. Speaking of impressions, don’t tell anyone that I’m a seventeen year old that gets _bedtime stories,_ okay?”

Castiel holds up his book, grinning. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  
  


*

  
  


“So… there are multiple high schools to choose from, but I would hate to enroll you in one and have to change it when we find a place… so I’m going to give that a few days, is that alright?”

“Makes sense to me.”

They’re perched at a booth at McDonald’s a few blocks from the motel. Castiel would rather check out the breakfast menu at Harvelle’s, but for now they’re back to dining cheap.

“You look so mad at your McMuffin,” Claire says.

“I should be feeding you better.”

“The motel room has a little fridge, maybe we can get some milk and cereal. Bran flakes, or some other gross, healthy crap.”

Castiel smiles. “Wonderful idea, Claire.”

“Damn it, why did I say anything? I _like_ McMuffins!”

  
  


*

  
  


They spend Friday checking out places for rent in the area. It’s a bit discouraging, as it turns out. Some places are too far from schools and stores for Castiel’s liking, one place is _right_ next to train tracks, two places cost more than their ads in the paper claimed, one has a two _thousand_ dollar security deposit, and one place had a very unfriendly landlord who had heard Castiel’s name and said “I don’t rent to Jews.”

Castiel had briefly considered explaining that he wasn’t Jewish, then discarded the notion. An anti-semitic landlord isn’t someone Castiel and Claire need in their lives. 

“I guess it was silly not to expect… bigots,” Claire says, plopping into the Continental’s passenger seat with a sigh.

“I’ll admit I was rather taken aback, but people like that exist everywhere, unfortunately.”

“Sucks, though. That was a nice apartment.”

  
  


*

  
  


Saturday is spent much like Friday, checking out rentals that for one reason or another aren’t a good fit. The day passes slowly and full of frustration, and by evening Castiel is sitting at the table in their motel room, wondering if Jasperville won’t work out after all.

“Know what I think?” Claire says from where she’s perched in front of the TV.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re being too picky.”

“Claire, that entire apartment smelled like sweat and dogs, I don’t care how big the bedrooms were,” Castiel says, glaring at the Craigslist listings on his phone.

“Okay _obviously_ I don’t mean that place, or the one with the creepy bigot owner… but what was wrong with that place by the train tracks?”

“Trains are _loud,_ and have no care for our sleep schedule, Claire.”

“What about the duplex owned by that sweet old lady?”

“It was eight _miles_ from the nearest school. What if you missed your bus and I was at work? How would you get to class?”

“And the place with the cheap security deposit and amazing view?”

“Well, they don’t allow cats, and—”

“We don’t _have_ a cat.”

“You’ve always wanted a cat, though.”

“So? I’ve always wanted to meet The Rock, doesn’t mean I _need_ it to happen!”

“Who is—”

“ _Dad_.”

“You had such a hard time growing up, and I didn’t even see… I just want this new life to be perfect.”

“It’s not gonna be perfect, Dad. My hair is store bought, my boobs are fake, I have a _penis_ that I don’t really want, life is like that, and I'm learning to be okay with it. Life isn’t perfect, and you can’t make it perfect.”

Castiel slumps in his chair, knowing he looks like a sullen teen. “I can try.”

“Yeah, but in the meantime, you’re standing in your own way. And mine.”

“Why does it feel like I’m being scolded by a parent?”

“Be less picky or you’re grounded.”

  
  


*

  
  


They take Sunday off. Instead of looking at more houses and apartments, they check out local parks, browse a used book store, window shop at the Jasperville Mall. It feels good to just get out and have a nice time. Back in Pontiac, they were so worried about running into people they know and having to deal with that judgment, the misgendering… here though, they’re simply a father and daughter spending time together. It feels good. Castiel likes this place, he wants to find a home here.

They decide to go to Harvelle’s again after all, though their meal is decidedly less expensive this time. They share an order of mozzarella sticks and an order of fries, with water to drink. Castiel is pretty sure they were given way more fries than they paid for, but he’s not complaining. Sam isn’t their server this time, but when he spots them he grins wide and comes over.

“Back again! I guess those root beer floats worked their magic.”

“I think we’re well on our way to being regulars, right, Dad?” Claire says.

Castiel smiles up at Sam. “Claire does love fried cheese.”

“Ellen’s going to be smug when she hears you came back. She knows how to rope em’ in.”

“First one’s free,” Claire says, “that’s how drug dealers get you.”

“ _Claire._ ”

Sam snorts. “She’s not wrong. So, do you guys live nearby? We have a _great_ breakfast menu for when you’re half-awake and too lazy to cook…”

“We’re staying at the Toreador Motel… still looking for a place.”

“Dad’s being super picky about it,” Claire says with a long suffering sigh.

“Must you disparage me to strangers?” Castiel grouses.

Sam claps his hands together excitedly. “Hey, you’re looking for a place? That’s awesome! My brother _just_ lost a tenant. Uh… well he didn’t _lose_ a tenant, he kicked Ed and Harry out for some pretty egregious issues, _but,_ point is there’s a two bedroom apartment available. Hasn’t been listed yet, Dean’s still taking care of the damage left behind, but… it’s a nice building, only seven blocks from here!”

“And _here_ is only two miles from a school, _Dad,_ ” Claire says, nudging Castiel’s hand on the table.

“What’s the rent like?” Castiel asks.

“About eleven hundred.”

Not bad at all. “Security deposit?”

“Five hundred.”

“Pets?”

“ _Dad,_ ” Claire hisses.

“Rodents and small reptiles are fine, cats for an extra two-hundred on the security deposit, no dogs or birds… not even when you’re _family_ ,” Sam says, pouting slightly.

“Is your brother affiliated with any white supremacy groups?”

“ _DAD._ ”

“What? No! He’s fine! I mean… okay he’s kind of uh… grouchy sometimes. Um, and I mean some might say he’s a bit closed off… but he’s a good landlord, I swear. Great at fixing stuff, too.”

“Exactly _how_ grouchy—”

“Nope,” Claire says, holding a hand up. “ _Nope_. You said you were going to relax about this. We’re checking this place out, and _I’m_ deciding if it’s right for us or not.”

“Wow,” Sam says, “your kid is _strict._ ”

Castiel can feel his cheeks heating. How embarrassing, getting scolded by his child in front of a near-stranger. He glances at Sam, whose expression is both open and slightly amused. “Could I get the address?”

  
  


 


	6. Chapter 6

When they’re done with their meal, Castiel takes them to the address Sam provided. Jasperville Commons is a fairly small complex compared to the one they lived in back in Pontiac; one building, four floors, though it’s hard to tell how many apartments are on each floor from the outside. The grounds around the building are well maintained, the grass is tidy, neatly trimmed hedges, clean walls on the exterior, good paint job, flowers along the walkway between the parking lot and the building itself.

“Looks nice,” Claire says.

This is the type of building where the apartment entrances are inside, and a key or a buzzer is needed to get in. Judging by the list by the buzzer, there are twenty-four apartments total. Castiel presses the buzzer for apartment 4E, “D. Winchester”. Nothing happens, so he presses it again.

“Sam said he’s working on the free apartment, try this one,” Claire says, pointing to the button labeled “H. Spangler & E. Zeddmore”.

Castiel assumes they are the “Harry and Ed” that Sam spoke of before, so he presses the buzzer.

After a few seconds, a gruff, annoyed voice comes on over the little speaker by the button panel. “Ed and Harry are gone, go check Ed’s mom’s house.”

Unsure of how to respond, Castiel presses the button again.

“ _What_?” the voice barks.

“Mr. Winchester?” Castiel tries.

No response. A few seconds tick by, and Castiel pushes the button again.

“You have to hold the button down to talk, genius.”

Claire snorts, and Castiel glares at her before pressing and holding the button down. “Mr. Winchester?”

“Yep.”

“We heard there was an apartment for rent?”

“Well who the hell told you _that_?”

“Holy _shit,_ ” Claire says, “I guess ‘grouchy’ was an understatement on Sam’s part.”

“Should we go?” Castiel says, grimacing.

“We didn’t see the place yet!”

“I’m sorry, do you _want_ to meet this ridiculously unpleasant man and live in his building?”

“Life isn’t perfect, remember?”

Castiel sighs, pressing and holding the button again. “Sam sent us.”

“Place isn’t ready yet.”

“We’d still like to see it if we could?”

“Say please!” Claire whispers.

“Please.”

There’s a long pause, then the front door makes a beeping and clicking sound. Castiel tries the handle, and it opens.

There’s an elevator in the building, but it’s out of order. There’s a paper taped to the door reading “Out of service until Monday. —Dean”.

“Promising,” Castiel says.

“Things break, Dad. It’s getting fixed tomorrow.”

“This notice could be months old.”

Claire points to the date on the sign, showing that it was posted two days ago. “You’re being a baby.”

“He was _rude,_ Claire.”

“He’s a landlord, not a roommate. Come on.”

Claire heads for the stairwell, and Castiel follows. Being less concerned about finding the “perfect” home was certainly simple in theory, but apparently it’s not so easy to… as Claire would say, “chill out”.

The door to 4F is slightly ajar, and Castiel reaches out to stop Claire just as she’s about to push it open.

“We should _knock,_ Claire.”

“Why? He doesn’t even live here!”

“I’ve really failed to impart any sense of manners on you, haven’t I?”

“You’re just afraid of the big bad landlord.”

“I’m an _adult,_ I’m not afraid of some grouchy, ill-tempered—”

“I can hear you,” growls a voice from the doorway.

Claire and Castiel both yelp and jump back. The man in the doorway is tall, bearded, and frowning. He’s wearing a black and red checkered flannel shirt, blue jeans, and boots. He looks like someone Castiel would see if he typed “angry lumberjack” into Google’s image search function. All that’s missing is an ax or a chainsaw.

“So,” Winchester says, peering at Castiel, “Sam sent you?”

“He heard we were looking for a place.”

“Yeah, Sammy’s a real do-gooder. Well, I’m Dean Winchester, call me Dean… and this is my building, or whatever.”

“I’m… Castiel Novak, this is J— Claire, my daughter.”

Claire punches Castiel in the arm, as she has taken to doing when he accidentally misgenders or “deadnames” her. She said it was to create a negative association with her assigned gender and former name, but Castiel thinks it just makes her feel better.

Dean, meanwhile, has narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You think I can’t tell when someone’s giving me a fake name, kid?”

Kid? “Surely you’re at least a few years _younger_ than I—”

Claire elbows Castiel out of the way so she can glare up Dean. “The names aren’t fake, they’re _new._ There’s a difference.”

“Claire…”

“Legally, we’re Claire and Castiel.”

“Uh huh,” Dean says.

Claire scowls. “You gonna show us the place or not?”

Dean’s expression twitches into an almost smile, then goes back to a frown. “Yeah, sure,” he says, stepping to the side.

The apartment is fairly empty, save for a large, open toolbox and a short step ladder with a fluffy white cat curled up on the top step. The windows are open, probably to air out the scent of drying paint, and it looks like Dean is in the middle of ripping out the carpet.

“Well, go ahead and have a look,” Dean says, “I’ll be out here tearing out this carpet so I can fucking burn it in the parking lot.”

Castiel has this urge to cover Claire’s ears at the profanity before remembering that she swears up a storm on a daily basis. They check out the two bedrooms and the bathroom. A lot of the flooring, fixtures, and doors look new. The bathroom smells like Lysol and looks _pristine_. The bedrooms have clean, taupe carpets, curtains that look brand new, and decent sized closets. The view from the windows is pleasant if unremarkable, there are no weird smells aside from the paint and cleaning supplies, the rooms are both a good size… damn it.

“You get this constipated look on your face when you’re trying to think of something to complain about,” Claire says.

“No I don’t.”

“This is it, Dad.”

“He might not even want us living here.”

“This is so it. I can _feel_ it.”

“Of course you can.”

They walk out to the kitchen, which looks like it hasn’t been tended to yet. There’s dirt and discolored grout where the stove should be, and the fridge is in need of a good scrubbing.

“Stove’s coming tomorrow,” Dean says, appearing behind them. “Last tenants really wrecked this place.”

“No big,” Claire says, “Dad can’t cook anyway.”

“If you could wait until I’m out of earshot before insulting me to strangers, I would appreciate it,” Castiel says.

“It’s not an _insult,_ it’s a fact.”

“I’m going to learn to cook, you’ll see,” Castiel vows. He turns to Dean. “Do you have an application?”

Dean holds up a clipboard that he seems to have pulled out of thin air. There’s an application and a pen clipped to it. Castiel takes the clipboard, and Dean lets out some sort of grunt of acknowledgement before walking away.

Claire watches Castiel for all of a minute before she apparently gets bored and wanders out to the living room. Castiel hears a soft meow, and glances up to see the white cat awake and nudging at Claire’s legs.

“Nice cat, what’s their name?” Claire asks.

“Fucked if I know, she’s not mine. Assholes left her here and won’t come pick her up. I call her ‘that annoying thing that peed on my rug and got white fur all over my couch’.”

Wow, Dean really is quite a charmer.

“You gonna keep her?”

“I’m not really a cat person.”

“I feel bad for her…” Castiel looks up again, Claire’s crouched on the floor, petting the cat. “She had a family, and they up and left her…”

Castiel feels a little like he just got backhanded in the heart. What he wouldn’t give to erase the scars Amelia has left on their daughter.

“That’s a pro guilt trip, kid,” Dean says.

“Who’s guilting? I’m just saying it’s a sad situation.”

“ _You_ want her?”

“My life isn’t settled enough for a pet yet.”

“Really? Not _settled_? You lay a guilt trip on me and come back with that excuse?”

“Damn, you’re touchy.”

“You’re making me real glad I never got around to doing that ‘married with kids’ shit.”

“Well, you’re making _me_ glad that my father wasn’t spawned from Satan’s asshole.”

Castiel wonders if he should put a stop to this.

Dean snorts. “You’re gonna make a fine addition to the building, kid.”

After Castiel’s finished filling out the application, Dean looks over it for all of thirty seconds before he nods and says, “alright, cool”.

Castiel tilts his head in confusion. “Don’t you want to look into my references? Do a credit check?”

“Do I need to?”

“I, uh… no…”

“Well then, I repeat; alright, cool. So… tomorrow the stove comes, and the elevator is getting fixed… you can move in on Tuesday, and we’ll get set up then. Sound good?”

He looks into Castiel’s eyes, and for a moment Castiel feels… caught.

This man has _intense_ eyes, from the faded moss color, to the vivid focus they seem to have in the moment.

“Y-yes,” Castiel says, voice cracking. How embarrassing.

“Okay,” Dean says. “One other thing… I like a quiet building, alright?”

“That’s fine, we’re not noisy people.”

“Okay. Uh… despite my liking a quiet building, once in awhile my apartment has… noise disturbances.”

“Noise disturbances,” Castiel repeats.

“Like, loud sex?” Claire asks.

“ _Claire._ ”

“No,” Dean barks, “Jesus fucking Christ, why would I tell tenants about my loud sex?”

“Dude, I don’t know, this is my first time in California.”

Dean looks mildly disgusted. “Alright, well… it’s _not_ that, for fuck’s sake. There’s a bit of… yelling sometimes. Not often. And I’m just warning you because you’re going to be right across from me.”

“Oh… kay?” Castiel says, still confused.

“So, if you hear yelling from my apartment… don’t call the cops or anything. It’s nothing. And… I’ll knock a few bucks off your rent for the month if it causes problems for you. Still on board?” 

Castiel fights the urge to back out right then and there. The woman that lived above them in their apartment in Pontiac had loud, frequent, _violent_ sounding sex… compared to that, a little loud arguing or perhaps drunken yelling doesn’t sound all that bad.

“It’s really not a big thing,” Dean insists, “but Sammy thinks I ought to be up front with my tenants about it, so…”

“Thank you for letting us know,” Castiel says.

Dean looks away. “Yeah, sure. Well, uh… I’ll see you guys on Tuesday. You can come by in the morning for the key… say around nine?”

“We’ll be here.”

  
  


*

  
  


“You did it!” Claire shrieks once they’re back in the car.

“Alright, alright. Calm down. There’s still lots to do. I want to wait until we’re _officially_ moved in before we start worrying about ID’s and school registration, and we probably shouldn’t get furniture until we’re _sure_ we have the place.”

“You think he’ll back out?”

“I don’t know. I only had the one reference for our application, and do we even _want_ to live across from someone that has so many loud arguments that he has to warn his tenants about it?”

“I like him!” Claire says.

“He’s profoundly unpleasant.”

“He has _character,_ Dad. And dreamy eyes,” Claire adds with a sigh.

“He’s twice your age, Claire.”

“Oh my _God,_ Dad. Unclench, I’m not looking to _date_ him, jeez.”

“Unclench.”

“Yeah, it means—”

“I know what it means, Claire, thank you.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

On Monday, Castiel and Claire go to price furniture. Claire scoffs at Castiel’s diligent note taking, but these notes will make buying furniture this week much easier. Claire’s excited to get a boxspring and mattress set that isn’t used, unlike the ones at the last apartment. Castiel is likely going to hold off on bed frames until he has a job, unless he finds a good deal. They plan on getting two full size mattress sets, a bookshelf, a small dining table, chairs, a sofa, and a smaller bookshelf for Claire.

Castiel adds up his estimates for the planned purchases, delivery costs… how much he’ll probably have to spend on groceries… it’s mildly horrifying watching years of savings melt away, but that’s what savings are for, he supposes. Still, he’ll need a job as soon as possible. Part of him feels like he should be looking for a job like the one he had in Pontiac, but… new name, new life… maybe a new career path is in order as well.

“What job do you see me having?” Castiel asks Claire. They’re sitting on the motel bed, a five dollar pizza between them, some old action movie playing on the television.

“What did you do before?”

Castiel frowns. “You don’t know what I used to do for a living?”

“Something boring? I don’t know, for a long time I thought you were a tax accountant, but then one time you won some kind of sales award. At a certain point it felt like the time to ask had kind of gone, so…” Claire shrugs.

All those years and Castiel's own child didn't even know what his job was. “I’m in awe.”

“Well, so what did you do?”

“I sold radio ad time.”

“That sounds really boring.”

“It was.”

“Do people even _use_ radios anymore?”

“Of course… granted not as many as when I first took that job…”

“Well, I definitely don’t see you doing that. I see you doing something sweet and quiet, like teaching sixth grade or selling flowers.”

“So… a teacher or a florist.”

“What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

“An apiarist.”

“A what?”

“A beekeeper.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Oh no, I loved bees dearly in my youth. My mother was allergic, which made them _fascinating_ to me. She even made me a honeybee costume for Halloween one year… a beekeeper costume a couple of years later. After my bee phase I wanted to be a writer. Then a pastry chef. Then I wanted to run my own tea shop.”

Claire smiles around a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese. “I can totally see you running a tea shop.”

Castiel chuckles. “In another life, perhaps. I do like the idea of working in retail for a while, though… a bookstore or a flower shop. If I can find something like that full time…” He sighs. “But then there’s benefits and insurance to worry about, God forbid you broke a limb or something…”

“I’ll try not to break any limbs. I was making an effort before, but now I’ll try _extra_ hard.”

Castiel grabs a newspaper he bought yesterday and flips through to the classifieds. “Lots of receptionist jobs in here.”

“Isn’t that like... a girl job?” Claire says.

Castiel glances up at her. “I must say, I’m a bit surprised to hear you say something so nakedly sexist.”

Claire’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit, that garbage really sneaks up on you, doesn’t it?”

“Conditioning and all that.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” Claire says, burying her face in her hands.

“You’re rubbing pizza grease all over your skin.”

“Damn it!” Claire bolts into the bathroom.

Castiel smiles to himself as he continues browsing. “Do you think I’m too old to be an exotic dancer?” he calls out.

“ _DAD!_ ”

Castiel circles several ads with a pen while Claire wages a preventive battle against acne in the bathroom. When she comes back out, she plops down next to Castiel and yanks the newspaper out of his hands.

“Sure, you can have my paper, thank you for asking.”

“Do you have a resume?”

“I have several in my bag.”

“What name do they have on them?”

Castiel sighs. “Jimmy Novak.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work. You need one with your new name… maybe list Jimmy as an alias.”

“ _Ugh,_ what a waste of paper. I can’t believe I didn’t consider that.”

“Aren’t you thankful you have me?”

Castiel kisses the top of Claire’s head, then ruffles her hair. “Every single day.”

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Dean actually seems _more_ closed off on Tuesday morning. They fill out paperwork and whatnot, and Dean mostly communicates through grunts and monosyllabic words. Castiel would love to trade places with Claire, who has taken her copy of the apartment key and gone to start moving their sparse belongings inside while Castiel sits in Dean’s living room, curious but convinced that if he takes in his surroundings it will somehow anger Dean. He thought he saw a glimpse of a painting on the wall when he came in, but other than that he’s mostly focused on the sturdy oak coffee table and the plush brown couch.

“Rent’s due on the first, but since that’s not that far away, I’m obviously not gonna expect you to pay for that.”

Wow, an entire sentence. “Alright,” Castiel says, “thank you.”

The white cat from before trots into view, hopping onto the coffee table and lying down on the papers Castiel is trying to sign. Dean groans.

“I’ll waive the entire pet deposit fee if you wanna take this fuckin’ thing.”

“Claire’s not quite ready for a pet, I apologize.”

“I hate this fucking cat, bit my god damn toes while I was sleeping.” Dean grunts and gets to his feet so he can move the cat.

“Perhaps a furry friend will improve your disposition,” Castiel mutters.

Dean freezes, as does Castiel. He’s opening his mouth to apologize when Dean looks back at him, grinning. Castiel can’t decide if he finds the sight terrifying or strangely beautiful.

“And here I thought Claire was the mouthy one,” Dean says cheerfully, clapping Castiel on the back so hard that Castiel drops the pen.

They finish the paperwork within a few minutes, just long enough for Dean to revert to what is likely his default state of surliness.

“So,” Dean says, gathering the papers together and tapping them against the coffee table to straighten them out, “any questions?”

Oh yes, Castiel has plenty of questions. _“Why are you so cranky?” “Are you going to murder me?” “Why does your apartment smell like cinnamon buns?”_

“No,” Castiel says.

“Okay, cool. Do… uh… do you need help moving shit in…” Dean says, like it’s physically hurting him to offer.

“Thank you, but we’re fine. We don’t have anything Claire and I can’t lift in the car, and the delivery men will take care of the rest.”

“Delivery men?”

“I’m buying furniture today. The places I looked into yesterday offer deliveries.”

“No, come on, they charge an arm and a leg for that shit.”

“The charge is within my budget—”

“Yeah, fuck that. Come on, we’ll take Ash’s truck,” Dean says, standing again.

Castiel has no idea who "Ash" is. “You needn’t put yourself out…”

“I bet. Come on, Cas,” Dean says, leaving the apartment.

Castiel stumbles after him, down to the second floor where Dean knocks on a door bearing a sign that reads “Dr. Badass is IN”. No one answers, so Dean knocks louder.

“Wake up, Dr. Badass!” he shouts.

Another minute passes, and then the door swings open to reveal a skinny man with a mullet and not a stitch of clothing on.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, man, I didn’t need to see that,” Dean groans.

“You know the risks of knocking on my door before noon, Dean-o. Who’s the blushing guy?”

Dean glances behind himself at Castiel. “This is Castiel, he’s new to the building. Cas, this is Ash.”

“Greetings and salutations,” Ash says.

“Hi,” Castiel mutters, mortified. No one in Pontiac ever answered their door _naked_.

“And what can I do for you gentlemen on this fine winter morning?”

“Need the truck,” Dean says.

“Sure, but I’m gonna want something in return,” Ash says, and his voice is so suggestive that Castiel is certain he’s about to suggest Dean perform some sort of sexual act upon his naked body.

“Fill up your tank and bring you back a six-pack of PBR?”

“Got it in one, my man.”

Oh.

Ash disappears into the apartment for a moment and comes back fussing with a large, overfull keyring. It must have over fifty keys on it. How can anyone need that many keys?

Ash frees a key with a neon green cap and holds it out for Dean to take. “Not a scratch, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean snorts, and socks Ash in his (naked) shoulder, and when they get out to the parking lot, Castiel sees why. Ash’s truck looks like it was pelted with stones, rolled off a cliff, blasted with a hose that only sprays mud, then left out in the desert to rust for about a decade. How does this even happen to a vehicle?

“Yeah, I know,” Dean says, unlocking the doors. “He was gone for a week in September, and when he came back his truck looked like this. Won’t let me clean it either, the fuckin’ weirdo.”

“What _happened_ to it?”

“Every time I ask him, he just winks at me and says ‘Flagstaff, my man’.”

“ _Wow._ ”

“Important thing is she runs, and there’s a tarp we can lay out so your furniture doesn’t get old mud all over it.”

“That sounds— AAAH!!!” Castiel yelps when he realizes Claire is standing next to the truck, peering at him through the window.

“Forget something?” Claire says as Castiel rolls the window down.

“I apologize, Claire, I was distracted. Dean is taking me to get furniture.”

“Sweet! That’ll save on all those delivery fees!”

“You comin’, kid?” Dean grunts from the driver’s seat.

“Nah, I’m gonna keep moving stuff from the car in. _But,_ Dad, since you’re not wasting money on delivery fees, _maybe_ I could go to Harvelle’s for lunch…”

Castiel sighs and rolls his eyes as he hands Claire a ten dollar bill. “Please order a side salad with your mozzarella sticks, Claire.”

Claire snatches the money out of Castiel’s hand. “Of course! See you soon, Dad!” Dean starts the truck and pulls out of Ash’s parking lot. “And _no_ yellow furniture!” Claire yells.

“That your car she’s pulling boxes out of?” Dean says as they drive away.

“It is,” Castiel says.

“That is one _damn_ ugly car, man.”

“Noted.”

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel looks at the GPS on his phone, then back toward the street sign they just passed. “You missed the turn.”

“Yeah, we’re not going to Crowley’s Furniture.”

“But that’s where I’m getting my furniture.”

“Crowley’s shit is overpriced and poorly made.”

“But—”

“I get it, you’re new, you don’t know any better and his store is the first result on Google.”

“But I had everything picked out…”

“Come on, the place we’re going to has way better stuff, _and_ I get a thirty percent discount. Trust me. You’ll save money and have more for… school supplies or skinny jeans or whatever the fuck teenagers need.”

Castiel certainly can’t turn his nose up at an opportunity to save money. “Very well, I’ll give your place a try.”

“Alright. And hey, if you hate everything there, we can go to Crowley’s after and you can get some incredibly inferior furniture.”

  
  


*

  
  


Dean takes them to a store named John’s Home Furniture. He shows Castiel around with some enthusiasm while an employee watches, but doesn’t approach. The mass-produced stuff is about the same price as Crowley’s Furniture, but the custom pieces are certainly more affordable. Unfortunately, everything Castiel intended to buy falls into the mass-produced category, so coming all the way to this store was a waste of time.

“Not a waste of time,” Dean says. “Discount, remember? I think you should consider one of the custom pieces, though… maybe an end table. Gotta support local businesses, Cas, and it’ll give your house some character.”

Who _is_ this man?

Castiel relents and picks out a custom end table. It’s beautiful, it has the appearance of delicate, twisting branches coiling around each other, though there’s a sturdy pillar hidden in the center to keep the piece from easily toppling over or breaking under the weight of the drawer at the top.

“Oh man, _awesome_ choice,” Dean says. “I have one of these in my room, stained mahogany, though, not this cherrywood color.”

“It’s on track to be the most lovely piece of furniture I’ve ever owned.”

“Okay, so we’ve got the chairs picked out, shelves, a table, the end table, sofa… anything else? Beds? They don’t have mattresses here, but they have great frames.”

“No, no frames yet. But we do need to go somewhere that sells mattresses.”

“I know a place… _also_ better than Crowley’s. I don’t get a discount, but they always have good sales.”

Dean is being so… talkative and friendly. It’s making Castiel nervous, like he’s going to say the wrong thing and ruin it.

Dean waves at the employee that’s been eyeing them from the front of the store, a man that looks even more intimidating than Dean.

“Dean,” he says by way of greeting. “Haven’t seen you in a bit. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Castiel, he’s a new tenant. Saved him from going to Crowley to furnish his apartment.”

The man’s face breaks into a grin. “Lured him over here with your discount, huh?”

“He’s got a kid, guess I have a soft spot for single parents.”

“Mhm. I think you just like costing Crowley business.”

“It’s the little things that keep me going.”

The man holds out his hand, which Castiel shakes. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Castiel, name’s John Winchester.”

Castiel looks between John and Dean, surprised. “Winchester?”

“My dad. What, can’t see the resemblance?”

“Well I certainly see a sartorial similarity, but I’m assuming that’s not genetic,” Castiel says.

“Uh…” John looks at Dean.

“I think it’s a joke about us wearing the same kind of clothes,” Dean offers.

“Riiight… anyone ever tell you that you talk like an encyclopedia, kid?” John says.

“My ex-wife did.”

John grimaces. “Whoops.”

“It’s fine.”

Dean snorts. “Okay, well now that things are slightly awkward, let’s get to buying!”

  
  


*

  
  


There’s something… odd about Castiel’s time at the store. There’s a strained dynamic between Dean and John that Castiel can’t quite put his finger on. There’s love there, certainly… but there’s also this energy that’s sad and guilty. Perhaps they have a past rift that hasn’t quite mended. Castiel is very curious, but asking about it is of course out of the question. Instead, Castiel asks about something that is equally none of his business.

“Why do you dislike Crowley so much?”

They’re back in the truck, on their way to the apartment.

“Crowley’s a dick,” Dean says, “couldn’t you tell that when you were at his store?”

“The only employee I met with was the lovely redhead working there.”

“Oh, that’s Rowena, she’s Crowley’s mom. Seventy years old and doesn’t look a day over thirty-five. Freaks me the fuck out.”

Castiel thinks back to the petite redhead that pointed him in the direction of the bookshelves. “Surely the woman I met isn’t—”

“She’s the only woman that works there, man, and she’s seventy.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say, other than, “ _How_?”

“If I believed in that kind of shit, I’d blame witchcraft. It’s fun pissing off Crowley with that; his geriatric mom looking at least ten years _younger_ than him.”

“Ah, that brings me back to my question; why do you dislike him?”

“Told you, he’s a dick.”

“Surely there must have been something specific.”

“He and my dad used to be in business together at that place… and the logistics of it kind of go over my head, but basically Crowley screwed my dad out of a lot of money, and his share of the business. Crowley’s good at loopholes. And getting what he wants. And saying ‘fuck you’ to a business partner in the name of lining his pockets. My dad didn’t have the resources to fight him in court, so… instead he’s been building the new place up for the past several years. Lost a lot of money in the process, wasn’t out of the red until last year.”

Dean’s voice is thick with restrained rage; Castiel can tell he’s the type to be fiercely protective of his family.

“Well then, I’m glad I didn’t buy anything from him,” Castiel says.

Dean grunts in reply.

  
  


*

  
  


When they get back to the apartment building, Dean fetches a hand truck from the maintenance closet, which makes the shelves, chairs, and other bits far easier to move. The sofa takes some work, but Dean is very strong, and the two of them are able to get it into the apartment. Claire is nowhere to be seen, but it looks like she’s unpacked a few boxes.

Before too long Dean and Castiel are back in Ash’s battered and filthy truck, headed for a mattress warehouse at the edge of town.

“So… what’s your story man?” Dean says. It sounds like he’s aiming for casual.

“My story,” Castiel replies.

“Where are you from, what’s your birth name, are you on the run from the police…”

“I don’t have an exciting secret backstory, Dean. I was an ad salesman living with my wife and child in Illinois, now I’m not.”

“Seems like there’s more to it than that.”

Castiel nods. “There is.”

“But you’re not gonna tell me.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s cool, man. Everyone’s got skeletons in their closet.”

“They’re not skeletons in our closet, they’re… they're boxes that we’re not unpacking yet.”

Dean nods, something grave and distant on his face. “Yeah… I think I get that.”

  
  


*

  
  


The excursion to the mattress outlet is brief; Castiel knows exactly what he wants to get, though he’s delighted to see the mattress and boxspring sets are nearly one hundred dollars cheaper than at Crowley’s.

Getting the mattresses into the elevator takes some finagling, they opt to move everything out by the elevator then take one mattress up at a time. Castiel smiles when he opens the door of his new home, and finds Sam and Claire assembling the dining table.

“Get fired?” Dean says, leaning the mattress against the wall.

“ _Right,_ ” Sam says. “Ellen’s never firing me, she loves me. Just taking a break to help, I’ll go back in an hour or so.”

“The hell kind of business lets its employees wander off in the middle of a shift?”

Sam grins. “Ellen’s idea. She overheard Claire telling Jo that her father is all thumbs, and she volunteered me to help.”

“I’m not _all_ thumbs,” Castiel says, offended.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing you hit your fingers with a hammer again,” Claire says dramatically.

“But I—”

“Come on, Butterfingers,” Dean says, pushing Castiel out the door, “we’ve got more shit to bring up.”

They finish loading the day’s purchases into the apartment, and then Dean is saying his stilted goodbyes, brushing off both Castiel’s thanks, and his offers to compensate Dean for his help.

“It’s what landlords are for,” is what Dean says. That hasn’t been Castiel’s experience at _all_ , but he’s not going to push the issue.

Sam leaves not long after that. He got a great deal done in such a short amount of time. The table Castiel bought is assembled, as are the shelves for the living room and two bedrooms. The mattresses are on their boxsprings, the chairs are set up by the dining table, and the sofa is… well, it’s a sofa.

Claire’s been unpacking her room for the past hour or so, but instead of doing the same Castiel finds himself sitting on his new couch, contemplating the future. It feels so _good_ to have a proper home with decent furniture, but there’s still lots to do before Castiel will feel settled. Claire needs to be enrolled in school, Castiel needs a job, they need to find a local therapist for Claire, Castiel needs to inform Amelia of their new address.

“Know what I miss?” Claire says, startling Castiel.

“What do you miss?”

Claire plops down on the couch next to him. “ _Fun_ school supplies. When I was a kid we got stuff like construction paper, and markers, and glue sticks. Nowadays it’s just… notebooks and pens and books. _Yawn._ ”

Castiel smiles. “I could buy you some construction paper.”

“What the hell would I make with it?”

“A turkey shaped like your hand?”

“Would you put it on the fridge?”

“If I felt it exemplified your best work.”

There’s a knock on the door, and both their heads swivel to look at it.

“A visitor?” Castiel says.

“A visitor!” Claire repeats. “Big day.”

“Mhm,” Castiel says, rising to answer the door.

It’s not all that surprising to see Dean at the door; Castiel doesn’t really know anyone in Jasperville, after all. The bright blue oven mitts though, those are a surprise. As is the foil-covered baking dish Dean is holding.

“Uh… hello, Dean,” Castiel says.

“Hi,” Dean says gruffly, as though Castiel has managed to upset him in the two or so hours since he was last here. “This is for you. And Claire.”

“Oh…” Castiel reaches for the dish. “Wow, that’s—”

Dean jerks the dish away. “It’s hot.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, stepping aside to let Dean in. He watches Dean make a beeline for the kitchen, noticing for the first time that Dean is rather bow-legged. He watches Dean’s gait for a moment, and when he glances elsewhere, he realizes Claire is watching him from the couch, eyebrows arched. He looks away abruptly, turning to close the door to the apartment. He feels unsettled by the moment, but before he can dissect it, Dean yells “Are you assholes gonna come in here?!” from the kitchen, and Castiel and Claire both scramble out of the living room.

“I know you don’t have groceries yet, so I thought I’d… uh… yeah,” Dean says, gesturing at the dish that’s now on the counter. Castiel notices the oven mitts have big, smiling yellow suns on the back. He wonders if Dean bought those himself.

Claire’s already carefully peeling back the foil and taking a deep inhale.

“It’s uh… baked macaroni and cheese with ham and some other stuff… hopefully nothing you can’t eat,” Dean says with a shrug.

“Holy fuck, it smells awesome,” Claire says, sighing. “Can we keep him, Dad?”

“Only if you’re willing to pay the two hundred dollar pet deposit,” Dean says, tapping the counter with one mitt. Castiel wonders how he managed to leave his apartment and knock on their door while wearing those.

Claire starts pulling bowls out of the cabinet. Right now they don’t have all that many dishes; another thing Castiel will remedy when he has an actual income.

“Thank you so much for this,” Castiel says. “I confess I’d forgotten all about dinner. Would you like to join us?”

Dean looks surprised, then panicked, then apologetic. “Thanks, but I gotta go soon. Promised Sam I’d go on a fuckin’ date with him.”

“Aren’t you _brothers_?” Claire says.

“ _Claire_.”

“Har fucking har,” Dean says. “It’s a double date. This girl Sam asked out would only go if they could double with her _BFF_.” Dean’s holding his hands up as he says the last phrase. Castiel thinks he might be making air quotes, but it’s hard to tell with the oven mitts on.

“You seem _real_ excited about it,” Claire says.

“I hate double dates. And blind dates. _And_ getting fixed up. And they’re _both_ fucking named Ruby, how confusing is _that_ gonna be?” Dean growls.

“Lucky lady,” Claire says.

“I can still take that mac and cheese back, smart ass.”

“No!” Claire yelps, shielding the food with her body, “I can be good!”

“Claire loves cheese,” Castiel says.

“I’ll say. Well,” Dean pats the foil with one mitt. “Enjoy,” he says, before ambling out of the apartment. Castiel watches him go, and when he looks back at Claire she’s already eating a forkful of macaroni and cheese out of the dish and probably burning the entire inside of her mouth.

“See?” Claire says, mouth impressively overfull. “He’s not so bad.”

Appalling manners, really. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  
  


 


	8. Chapter 8

Wednesday is fairly busy. The biggest activity of the day is getting Claire registered at Jasperville High School, but there’s also trips to the local bank, three different counseling centers, the DMV, the grocery store, and a print shop for Castiel’s slightly updated resume.

By the time they get home it’s well into the evening, and Castiel has every intention of spending the rest of the night eating leftover macaroni and cheese while watching dvds on the shabby old television he bought. He’s signed up for an internet, phone, and cable bundle, but it won’t be active until Friday. The first six months are dirt-cheap, but Castiel had to buy a modem _and_ sign a two year contract to get the deal. Claire’s excited, they haven’t had cable or internet since the divorce. Castiel’s glad Claire will go back to using her laptop and stop stealing his phone every time she wants to play on Tweetspace or Crushing Candies or whatever it is she does online.

They’re not back five minutes before there’s a knock on the door. It’s Dean again, holding two medium-sized tupperware containers.

“How was your date?” Claire says, shoving Castiel to the side.

Dean shrugs. “Sam went home with em’.”

“B _oth_ of them?” Claire sounds impressed.

“Think so.”

“Your brother has _mad_ game.”

“He sure as fuck never has before, but there’s a first time for everything.” Dean has an odd little smirk that Castiel thinks might be pride.

“I love California,” Claire says, “no one ever casually talked about their brother having a threeway back where I used to live.”

“Right. Anyway,” Dean shoves the containers into Castiel’s hands. “Pasta salad, peanut butter cookies.”

“Holy shit, _more_ food?” Claire sounds thrilled.

“Dean,” Castiel says, “I am of course grateful, but you don’t have to—”

“I know. Don’t eat the cookies before dinner. Either of you.” With that, Dean disappears back into his own apartment.

Claire grabs the container of cookies. “I love this place.”

  


*

  


“I could drive you.”

Claire pauses in eating her cereal, looking confused. “Why? There’s a bus.”

“Just… if you’re nervous, or you could wait until Monday. Thursday is an odd day for a first day of school.”

“Nah, this is better. I have a lot of catching up to do, might as well start now. Plus Thursdays are kinda my _day,_ you know. And I’m not nervous, Dad. I’m excited!”

“Still, it’s a lot to… it’s a big change.”

“I know. But if it’s hard… well you’ll hear about it.”

“You’re really excited?”

Claire beams. “I am! I’m excited to go to school, I’m excited about this apartment, I’m even excited to start with my new therapist next week. This is it, Dad, my life is finally starting, after months… maybe even _years_ in hiatus.”

Castiel pokes at his cereal with his spoon, feeling glum. “Hiatus wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Aw, Dad. I’m not putting you down, okay? I’m just excited to see what school and stuff is like while I’m _me._ ”

It’s not fair for Castiel to make Claire feel responsible for his pseudo empty nest syndrome. He smiles. “Then, I’m excited for you.”

  


*

  


Claire leaves, and then Castiel’s alone in an empty and mostly unfamiliar apartment. It’s lonely. Castiel makes it all of forty minutes before he decides he ought to go about finding a job. He calls about the receptionist positions from the paper. One has already been filled, two are looking for someone with receptionist experience, one Castiel hangs up on after realizing the person is disappointed that he’s a man, and one schedules an interview for Monday.

It takes all of forty-five minutes. It’s been so long since Castiel had to look for work, he wonders if he should try to line up more interviews, or wait and see how Monday goes.

He has no one to ask, no one to give him advice, and Castiel is surprised that the realization of that brings him to tears. There’s an urge to hold them back, but for who? There’s no one here, that’s the whole point. He can eat the remaining cookies from the kitchen while crying to his heart’s content and no one will ever know as long as he finishes before Claire gets home. No… cookies with _ice cream_ , oh that’s a much better idea. Castiel would very much like some ice cream. He throws his coat on over his sleep pants and Tweety Bird t-shirt, toes on his sneakers, and grabs his car keys before heading out to the elevator.

The elevator seems to take eons, long enough that Castiel’s about to take the stairs instead, then there’s a _ping!_ and the doors open to reveal Dean. He’s in black sweats, and a gray t-shirt, and carrying a toolbox.

“Nice outfit,” Dean mutters in a not terribly friendly voice. He's one to talk.

Castiel doesn’t bother responding, just walks by the exiting Dean to get in the elevator. Dean grabs Castiel’s arm as he moves past, forcing him to turn around. As much as Castiel would prefer to react to the intrusive gesture with some venom, he just stares at Dean, wide-eyed and almost a little scared.

“You’ve been crying,” Dean says, voice still not particularly friendly.

“I’m allowed,” Castiel snaps, glaring and trying unsuccessfully to wrench his arm free. “May I have my arm back?”

Dean tugs Castiel forward, away from the elevator doors which close behind him. “Tell me why you were crying,” he demands, voice even harsher. After a moment he frowns, relaxing his body slightly and releasing his hold on Castiel. “Please.”

“It’s nothing, just an… unanticipated emotional reaction.”

“Reaction to what?”

“Claire started her new school today.”

Dean looks surprised, then he smiles, just a little. “Oh.”

“If you’re about to make fun of me, I suggest—”

“Woah, who said I was going to do that?”

Castiel sighs. “I don’t know. But I'm going to go. I’d very much like to go to the store so I can buy ice cream and spend the day in my bed eating said ice cream.”

Dean grabs his wrist and starts pulling him away from the elevator. “I have ice cream.”

“Dean,” Castiel protests, stumbling after him, “this isn’t necessary.”

“It has swirls of strawberry and chunks of cheesecake in it.”

Castiel stops struggling. “Lead the way.”

  


*

  


Dean brings Castiel to his apartment, instructing him to sit on the couch before he disappears with his toolbox. The white cat is lying on the coffee table, sleeping atop an open book that Castiel can’t identify through all the fur.

“That can’t be good for the spine,” Castiel remarks as Dean comes out with two bowls overfull with ice cream.

Dean glances at the cat. “I think a lot of cats sleep that way.”

“The spine of the _book,_ ” Castiel says, accepting his bowl of ice cream and a spoon.

“Oh,” Dean says, shrugging. “Alright, here we go. Breakfast of champions.”

Castiel tries out a spoonful. It has a chunk of cheesecake in it, and as he bites into the sweet combination of ice cream and cake, the pain in his heart eases just a bit. “Oh, dear heavens.”

“Good, huh?” Dean says.

“Did you make this?”

“Ellen let me try out her ice cream maker a few days ago… made _way_ too much. Honestly I fully intended to eat the entire batch myself, but…”

“But pity?”

“Sympathy. Sympathy’s a better word. According to Sam, anyway.”

“I don’t even care, this is delicious. You make wonderful food. You should do this for a living,” Castiel says, diving in for another spoonful and making sure to get some of the strawberry swirl.

“Nah. Nine to five doesn’t uh… suit me all that well. But hey, it’s good to know my God given talent is appreciated,” he says with a wink.

“ _Much_ appreciated.”

“Alright, well… now that I’ve got you buttered up, tell me why Claire going to school made you cry.”

Castiel sighs.

“Come on,” Dean insists, “you’ll feel better. Probably.”

“That’s not a very strong guarantee.”

“What can I say, man? Sometimes talking shit out does in fact make people feel worse. Only one way to find out.”

“I’m just lonely, Dean. Claire is all I have, and for the past few months it’s been us against the world, forging a new life together, living in each other’s pockets. I’m cut off from everyone else I once held dear. I have no other family, no friends, just Claire. With her gone, I’m… this will take some adjusting to.”

Dean looks at Castiel for a long moment before scooping up some ice cream in his spoon. “Not to make your pain about me, but you’re kinda hurting my feelings here, man.”

“Wh-what?”

“You’ve got two friends; Winchester A, and Winchester B.”

Castiel’s jaw drops slightly, something warm and fragile fluttering to life in his chest. “I… I didn’t realize…”

“Well, now you do,” Dean says, voice a little grumpy again. “You think I go around making food and hauling furniture for just anyone?”

Castiel hadn’t given it all that much consideration either way. “I suppose I did think that.”

“Just friends and sad, nerdy dads. Lucky for you, you’re both.”

“Dean, I don’t know what to say.”

“How about ‘thanks for the ice cream, friend’.”

Castiel smiles. “Thank you for the ice cream, friend.”

“Hm. Actually that sounded really weird, but you’re welcome.”

  


*

  


Not long after Castiel finishes his _wonderful_ bowl of ice cream, someone from the first floor calls with some sort of ‘apartment issue’, so Dean sends Castiel back to his own apartment with a pat on the shoulder and a tupperware container full of ice cream that Castiel won’t be sharing with Claire if he can help it.

“Don’t fill up on that, we’re making meatloaf and mashed potatoes later,” Dean says.

“W-we are?” Castiel says, confused.

“Unless you have plans?”

“I think my day is wide open.”

“Cool. See you in a few hours, Cas. And get some fresh air. Go for a walk or something,” Dean adds, voice a bit harsh.

Dean is a bizarre character, caring and terrifying in equal measure.

It feels good to have a friend.

  


*

  


Castiel spends another hour in his pajamas, but his heart is no longer in the whole “crying into a tub of ice cream” thing. He eats a bit more, because it’s _delicious,_ and then he showers and dresses in a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt. Back in Illinois at this time of year, Castiel would be in sweaters or sweatervests, heavy wool socks, hats, gloves… now it’s t-shirts, oxford shirts, henleys. No need to bundle up. He opts to wear a battered old flannel shirt in lieu of the trench he’d grabbed earlier, and leaves to go for a walk like Dean suggested. Or ordered. Actually, it _did_ sort of sound like an order.

Castiel strolls through his neighborhood awed at the differences and similarities to the somewhat wealthy, conservative chunk of Pontiac he lived in with Amelia. The most comforting thing he notices is how many people have LGBT pride decals on their cars, and even rainbow flags in some windows. The lawns are mostly dead and unwatered, which Castiel knows is for conservation reasons, but the homes are lovely and varied.

A woman jogging with three leashed dogs passes him, and she actually slows her pace to turn and get a better look at him before grinning and moving on. Castiel is a bit taken aback by this; he can’t remember the last time a woman blatantly checked him out. Then again, he’s been married most of his adult life.

He ends up walking for nearly an hour before he opts to head back to the apartment. He’s not sure when Dean will be showing up, but he’d hate to keep him waiting.

On his way back, Castiel passes a house with over a dozen small cacti lining the walkway. He slows, pausing to admire the plants. It’s a clever choice, seeing as the things won’t be needing much water.

“Hey.”

Castiel startles, realizing someone is watching him from the porch. It’s the woman from earlier, this time holding a bottle of water instead of a dog leash.

“My apologies,” Castiel says from his place on the sidewalk, “I was just admiring your choice of plants.”

The woman grins, sauntering down the walkway. “You look like you’re new to the area.”

“Just moved here this week, I thought I would have a look around.”

“What do you think?”

“Warm, lovely, welcoming.”

“You talking about the neighborhood, or me?”

“The neighborhood,” Castiel says, realizing a bit too late that the woman is flirting. “Uh… ah… not that you aren’t lovely, especially fresh off a jog you’re very… dry.”

“ _Dry_?”

“N-not _dry,_ I just meant you don’t look wet. _Sweaty,_ you don’t look sweaty. It’s… oh my good lord, I’ve forgotten how to talk to women,” Castiel sighs, face already in his hands.

The woman laughs, sharp and genuine. “ _Wow._ Let me guess, recently divorced and rusty as hell?”

“It’s been several months, but the rusty part is certainly true.”

“Well,” the woman holds out her hand. “I’m Meg, what’s your name?”

Castiel shakes Meg’s hand, it’s cold from the water bottle, and that little shock of sensation shakes some of his nerves free. “I’m Castiel.” It’s gotten easier to introduce himself as Castiel and not Jimmy, but there’s still a slight urge to use his old name.

“Cas-tee-yell? That’s a new one.”

“An old one, really. It’s the name of an angel.”

“An angel, huh? You know what angel I always liked? Clarence.”

“Clarence?”

“From It’s a Wonderful Life!”

“Of course. Forgive me, it’s been a while since I last saw that movie.”

“Mhm. Well, listen Castiel, since you’re new to the area, how about you let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night? Sort of a… welcome to the neighborhood thing.”

“My neighborhood is actually—” Castiel pauses. A date. She’s asking him out on a date. His first date in two decades. “That would be very nice, Meg, thank you.”

“Alright, then. You drive?”

Castiel nods. “I do, though I’ve been told my car is quite ugly.”

Meg smiles. “Pick me up here at seven,” she says, turning to walk back to her house. “And dress sexy!”

Castiel has no idea if she’s joking or not.

  


  


*

  


Castiel is barely home for five minutes before Dean comes knocking.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says as he opens the door.

“Time to cook, Cas, you ready?” Dean says gruffly.

Does he want Castiel to say yes, or no? “I… yes.”

“Cool, let’s go,” Dean says, gesturing to his open apartment door. Castiel follows him across the hall, and notices Dean is wearing slippers.

“Should I take my shoes off?”

Dean looks at him, bewildered. “What am I, Sam? Don’t worry about it.”

Though it’s not Castiel’s first time in Dean’s apartment, it is his first time actually taking in his surroundings in here, and it’s… nice. Pale green walls, darker green furniture, some nice, custom pieces in a style Castiel recognizes from John’s store, paintings on the wall. They look familiar. They look like the paintings at Harvelle’s, but more overtly surreal. There’s a desertscape with water lilies growing out of the sand, a forest piece where the trees have grapes instead of pinecones, a lavender tiger with glowing eyes.

“These are incredible,” Castiel says, tracing his finger along a series of mountains with a glowing sun in their basin.

“Yeah, uh… Sammy hung them up when I was out one time… I decided I didn’t hate how it looked, so I kept em’.”

“Are these by the same artist as the ones at Harvelle’s?”

“Noticed that, huh?”

“The style is similar, though the content is so different. They’re so beautiful,” Castiel says wistfully, eyes drifting to the lower right corner of the painting. His eyes widen at the “DW, 2015” painted there faintly. “ _You_ painted these.” He looks at Dean, who looks embarrassed.

“It’s a uh… relaxation thing,” Dean says, rubbing absently at his beard.

Castiel smiles. “You needn’t look so uncomfortable, they’re wonderful. I’d hang these in my own home.”

“Yeah?” Dean says, something approaching a smile crawling over his face.

“Absolutely.”

Dean ducks his head shyly and points a thumb toward the kitchen. “Well, uh… let’s make some food, huh? Meat’s not gonna loaf itself.” He narrowly misses stepping on his cat as he turns to rush into the kitchen, but not before Castiel catches the blush forming on his cheeks.

  


*

  


As it turns out, cooking with Dean is quite pleasant. Castiel had been worried that the experience would consist of Dean glaring while barking out monosyllabic orders, but Dean is very relaxed in the kitchen. He works at an easy pace and explains each step, sometimes pausing to have Castiel try doing a task. When Castiel makes a mistake, Dean is patient and helpful. He throws out little pop quizzes, and offers simple explanations when Castiel doesn’t know the answer.

Eventually the meatloaf is baking, the mashed potatoes are cooking, and there’s nothing to do but chat for a few minutes while Dean cleans a few dishes.

“So… saw you go for a walk earlier. Did it help?”

“Help what? _Oh…_ ” Castiel had honestly forgotten he’s been in tears this morning. “It did help, as did you. Although… something sort of odd happened.”

“Odd?”

“I somehow ended up with a date for tomorrow night…”

Dean drops the large mixing bowl he was holding, cursing when it lands in the dishwater and splashes his shirt. “A date, huh?” he says, dabbing his flannel with a kitchen towel. “You’re a hit already.”

“She was very forward, I suppose I was a bit caught off guard. But… I’m single, no longer pining for my ex-wife… I suppose a date is normal.”

“Dude, you sound scared shitless.”

“I’m out of practice, and in our brief time together, Meg seemed rather intimidating.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “Meg? Wavy dark hair? Buncha dogs? That Meg?”

“You know her?”

“Oh yeah. She was Crowley’s second wife. God _damn_ they hated each other.” Dean looks at Castiel thoughtfully. “Kinda surprised. Meg’s had a type since they divorced, and you ain’t it.”

Castiel wonders if he should feel insulted. “What’s her type?”

“Women,” Dean says, smirking.

“Oh… oh my.”

Dean gets an odd look on his face. Castiel can’t place it. “Don’t got something against bisexuality, do you?”

Castiel glares. “Of course not, my own daughter is—” He slaps a hand over his mouth, heaving a great sigh. “Uh… Claire’s sexuality is not my information to share… you didn’t hear that, alright?”

“Didn’t hear what?”

Castiel relaxes. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean shrugs, the confusing expression already melted away into something more casual. “So, where you gonna take Meg?”

“I have no earthly idea. She told me to pick her up at seven, and to dress sexy. How do I dress sexy? How did you dress on your date?”

“Uh…” Dean looks down at his clothing; a brown and gold flannel shirt and ratty jeans. “These jeans, and this shirt in blue…”

“So… I should dress like normal?”

“Why not? You’ve got a good…” Dean makes a series of vague gestures with his soapy hands that Castiel hopes he won’t be expected to interpret. “... situation going on.” He sighs. “I’m no good at this shit, ask someone else.”

“I _have_ no one else, remember?”

Dean groans. “Right. Okay, well… no t-shirts, I know that. And Sam practically cried when I showed up and he saw my jeans, so don’t wear pants with holes in them… I don’t know what else, man, I usually just show up in whatever.”

“If you were a woman, what would you want me to be wearing?”

“If I were a _woman._ ”

Castiel slaps his own forehead. “Oh… uh… if you were… any gender attracted to me… my gender… men…”

“There you go. Okay, well… clothes that fit nice? Do you have a suit? Do you look good in a suit?”

“I… look like me, but in a suit.”

“Waistcoat!” Dean exclaims so abruptly that Castiel’s surprised a cartoon light bulb didn’t appear over his head. “Do you have a waistcoat? I wore one on a date years ago… we didn’t even make it to dinner, she was all over me.”

Castiel feels his cheeks heating. “I, uh… I’m not necessarily aiming for uh… sex.”

“Good,” Dean says. “I mean… uh… not _good,_ but good for uh… you. I’ll uh. I’m gonna go get the thing, see if it fits you.” Dean shuffles out of the room and comes back less than a minute later, holding a hanger with the waistcoat. It’s black, thin, and it looks like it might fit. “Haven’t worn this in forever, glad it’s not covered in cat hair or anything. Well, come on. Try it on.”

Castiel tries the waistcoat on, and while it doesn’t look _great_ over his dull shirt, he knows it’ll look good over one of his old work shirts.

“Tiny bit big on the sides, but… looks good,” Dean says, nodding in approval.

Castiel smiles. “Thank you, Dean.”

The oven timer goes off, and Dean grins wide. “Almost time to eat, you pumped?”

“Uh… yes?”

“Awesome. Now take off that thing so you don’t get meatloaf all over it.”

  


*

  


It’s hard to believe a _cooked_ meal that Castiel had a hand in making can taste good, but it does. The meatloaf is flavorful, the potatoes are creamy and comforting, the gravy is hot and delicious. Castiel eats well, and at the end of the meal Dean sends him home with the waistcoat and leftovers for Claire.

Dean Winchester, apparently, is a man of infinite tupperware containers.

Castiel’s not home all that long before Claire comes home, flanked by two smiling teenagers. Incredible. Castiel watched Claire’s social connections wither and die between her depression and coming out as transgender, and here she is with two new friends after her very first day at a new school.

“Welcome home, Claire,” Castiel says, smiling. He wants to hug her, but he supposes that might be embarrassing for her. “How was school?”

“Great!” Claire proclaims, surprising Castiel by latching onto him for a hug. “This is Kaia, and that’s Kevin,” she says, gesturing at the two newcomers. “They’re the leaders of the school’s Rainbow Alliance.”

“Rainbow Alliance?”

“Well,” Kevin says, “it was the Gay-Straight Alliance for years, then it was the Gay-Lesbian-Straight Alliance.”

“Then the Gay-Lesbian-Bisexual-Straight Alliance,” Kaia adds.

“Then the Gay-Lesbian-Bisexual-Asexual-Straight Alliance. Then the Gay-Lesbian-Bisexual-Asexual-Transgender-Straight Alliance.”

“And the Gay-Lesbian-Bisexual-Pansexual-Asexual-Transgender-Agender- _Hetero_ sexual Alliance.”

“Then we tried it alphabetically, so it was the Agender-Asexual-Bisexual-Gay-Heterosexual-Lesbian-Pansexual-Transgender Alliance.”

“And that’s when we got tired of making new banners and we changed it to the Rainbow Alliance.”

Claire beams at Castiel, her expression full of pride. “Kaia and Kevin are in most of my classes, they’re going to help me play catch up over the next few days.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Castiel says, smiling at Claire’s new friends.

“I’ve been the poor bastard showing up in the middle of the school year, I know how much that can blow,” Kaia says.

“I’m glad to know Claire has found such compassionate new friends. Well… if you three get hungry, there’s leftover macaroni and cheese, leftover pasta salad, leftover meatloaf, and leftover mashed potatoes…”

“Meatloaf and mashed potatoes? Did Dean bring more food over?” Claire says, already looking past Castiel to the kitchen.

“Sort of… we made a rather hearty lunch across the hall… he gave me the leftovers.”

“ _We_?”

Castiel grins. “You’ll be pleased to know that I helped make the food and it still came out edible!”

Claire pretends to wipe a tear away. “I’m so proud. Alright, guys! Leftovers!”

“Leftovers!” Kaia and Kevin cheer in unison.

Castiel feels his heart warm as the teens make their way to the kitchen, chattering about whether or not macaroni and cheese with meatloaf will make a good sandwich. There’s so much _life_ in the apartment, he almost wants to cry again.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“So…” Castiel taps his spoon on his cereal bowl.

Claire pauses, jam covered toast halfway to her mouth. “So…?”

“You were having such a lovely time with your friends last night, so I didn’t want to bother you, but… I, um… I’m… there’s...”

“Holy shit, spit it out!”

“ _Ihaveadate_ ,” Castiel says quickly.

“Huh?”

“I have a date. Tonight.”

“Woah, already?”

“Unless you have a problem with me dating, then of course I can—”

“Dad, I know I have this whole… troubled child of divorce thing going on, but… I’m not secretly hoping you and Mom will get back together… I’m cool with you dating, I just can’t believe you met someone already, we _just_ got here! You nervous?”

“ _Incredibly_.”

“Wish I had some advice, but… all my dates were prior to tenth grade, and most of them were group dates. Also I was living on the wrong side of society’s gender binary. I can tell you that talking excessively about your ex on the first date is a bad idea. Hael did that. Like… she wouldn’t shut up about him, actually.” Clare’s glaring at her toast now.

“This is a sore spot for you.”

“I mean talk about your past and let her get to know you, but don’t spend _ninety minutes_ talking about all the cool stuff your ex is into, jeez!” Claire barks, slapping the table then looking startled that she did so.

“This is a _very_ sore spot for you.”

“Yeah, and it’s stupid, because… by the time I stopped going to that school she was calling me a freak like everyone else so I have better reasons to be mad at her.”

Castiel refuses to start sobbing while his child is trying to open up about something.

“But at the _time…_ ” Claire continues, “I liked her a lot, and I was kind of relieved to be attracted to a girl and go out and have a good time like a nice cisgender heterosexual boy… I’d pinned a lot of my hopes to be 'normal' on her.” Claire looks a little embarrassed. “One of the things I was able to figure out with Dr. Milton.”

Since Claire came out, Castiel hasn’t spent much time puzzling over what Claire and her former therapist might have gone over in their sessions. He’s been a little curious, but he assumed it wasn’t quite his business.

“But, uh… I mean knowing _why_ it’s such a sore spot is good, but…”

“But that doesn’t make it not a sore spot,” Castiel offers.

“Yeah.” Claire pouts. “Anyway… sorry to pile on your date anxiety like that, sometimes I just get that… emotional diarrhea thing happening and it all comes spilling out.”

“I’m _eating,_ Claire.”

  
  


*

  
  


There’s this urge Castiel has, as he spends his Friday puttering around the apartment. He feels like he should go say hello to Dean, maybe thank him for yesterday. He did, after all, say he was Castiel’s friend. But Dean is also the moodiest person Castiel’s ever met, and he’s a little terrified of knocking on the door and being met with a scowl rather than a smile.

At noon, Castiel goes to Dean’s apartment under the pretense of returning his tupperware containers and casserole dish. Claire’s friends _demolished_ the leftovers, so it’s not an entirely _false_ pretense. He knocks three times, and it only takes twenty seconds for Castiel to change his mind and start backing away. Dean’s probably busy, or not here, or maybe he doesn’t want Castiel coming around and bothering him. This was a terrible idea.

He’s turning back toward his own door when Dean’s door swings open, and oh God, Dean’s frowning.

“Are you like… afraid of me?” Dean says.

“Wh-what?”

“I was watching you through the peephole, and…. you looked terrified, man.”

That’s embarrassing. “I did?”

“You looked like you were about to shit your pants.”

“I assure you, I am in no danger of soiling myself.”

“But are you afraid of me?”

“I’m not afraid of _you_ exactly,” Castiel says, opting for honesty, “I’m more afraid of… annoying you. I mean I was just over yesterday, and here I am again, and I don’t want to… be too much.” Castiel sighs. “I haven’t made a new friend in a very long time, that’s frightening all on it’s own, and you’re…”

Dean narrows his eyes. “I’m what?”

“Mercurial.”

Dean’s posture relaxes a little. “That’s about the nicest way anyone’s ever told me I was unstable.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Look, I know I’m ‘cranky’ and ‘moody’ and ‘unfriendly’,” Dean says, in a manner that has Castiel wondering who Dean is quoting, “but I wanna be friends, okay? I know people sometimes feel like they’re walking on eggshells with me, but… but that’s me, and if you catch me in a bad mood, you just gotta try again later, okay?”

Dean’s tone has gone from baffled to agitated to sad to pleading in very little time, and it makes Castiel’s heart ache a little. Dean’s moodiness has clearly caused problems in the past.

“Dean?”

There’s an almost imperceptible sniffle before Dean responds. “Yeah.”

“Would you maybe like a hug?”

Dean looks confused, then annoyed, then his face softens and he nods. “Yeah, okay.”

Castiel crouches to set his items down, and when he straightens up again Dean gloms onto him like an emotional octopus, holding Castiel tight. Castiel stands, stunned and still for a moment before he remembers to reciprocate. He puts his arms around Dean and hugs him back just as tight.

“I haven’t made a new friend in a long time either,” Dean mutters.

Castiel squeezes a little tighter.

  
  


*

  
  


Dean shows Castiel how to make popcorn that isn’t instant and microwavable, and they spend the afternoon watching superhero movies from Dean’s dvd collection. They don’t talk all that much, but it’s pleasant. They sit on Dean’s couch, a bowl of popcorn and a snoozing white cat between them. Dean nudges Castiel at funny parts of the movie, which reminds Castiel of Roger back in Pontiac.

Castiel may have largely moved on from Amelia, but the loss of Roger, somehow that still stings. Castiel’s group of friends changed through the various stages of his life, grew and shrank as he got older and people came and went from his life. Roger, though, Roger was a constant from first grade until adulthood. They were best men at each other’s weddings, their families sometimes spent holidays together. Roger was the closest Castiel had to a brother, and now when Castiel thinks of him all he can see in his mind is Roger ushering his son away at the grocery store, as though Castiel might infect him with some sort of sin.

“You okay?” Dean says, pausing the Iron Man sequel.

“My apologies,” Castiel says, “a bit of melancholy over a former friendship. Remembering my best friend.”

“Been there. I get it.”

“You’ve lost a best friend?”

Dean nods, then shakes his head. “Well, no, because Sam’s always been my best friend… but other close friends. Bonds I thought were forged in fuckin’ iron didn’t quite hold up.” He frowns down at his cat as she stretches and rolls onto her back. “People that weren’t who I thought they were.”

“I suspect there are quite a few people back in Illinois who feel I wasn’t who they thought I was.”

“You seem like a good guy to me, a dad trying to do right by his kid.”

“I _am,_ I’m trying to do right by her. But right… the _concept_ of what’s right meant something different to the people in my former life.”

Dean’s expression is grim. “Been there too.” He looks a bit far away now, fingers absently stroking the cat’s belly.

“Dean?” Castiel says. “Dean?” No response. He reaches out, just barely touching the back of Dean’s hand. Before he can even process it, Dean’s grabbed onto Castiel’s wrist, tight. It’s not quite painful, but it’s… _alarming_. “ _Dean,_ ” Castiel says, trying to pull away. Dean’s looking at him, but he’s… he’s not. “Dean, can you hear me?”

Something like recognition flits over Dean’s face and he lets go of Castiel. He looks around for a moment, startled. “S-sorry. Sometimes I kind of check out when I’m tired… and I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Where did you go just now?”

“Somewhere I don’t wanna be.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not a great day to go spelunking into my past. You’ve got a date in an hour.”

An hour? Wow, this day has gone by so fast. Claire must be home already. “I can cancel, if—”

“I’m fine, Cas. Honest. You should probably go get ready. Maybe we can continue the Marvel marathon tomorrow. Or Sunday.”

Castiel nods slowly. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. Claire’s probably hungry, does she like spaghetti?”

“I have yet to encounter a food Claire _won’t_ devour.”

“Cool,” Dean says, patting the cat a few times before getting to his feet. Castiel does the same. “Tell her I’m bringing spaghetti and meatballs over in about an hour, okay?”

“I’m sure she’ll be elated. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean gives Castiel a sweet, genuine smile. “What are friends for?”

  
  


*

  
  


As soon as Castiel closes the door to his apartment, he hears “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!” coming from Claire’s room. He makes a beeline for her open door. She’s perched on her bed, surrounded by several open binders and text books.

“Hello.”

“I was starting to think I had the wrong time for your date,” Claire says.

“No, I was watching movies with Dean.”

“Wow, you guys are like… _friends_ now, huh?”

“Evidently. He said he would bring you dinner in about an hour… spaghetti and meatballs if you’re interested.”

“Yes!” Claire cheers, pumping her fist into the air.

“I thought so. I’m going to shower for my date, I suppose.”

Claire nods and picks up one of the five pens scattered in front of her. “Use conditioner!”

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel showers, shampoos, and conditions until he feels scrubbed clean and pleasant smelling. He wears black slacks that closely match Dean’s waistcoat, which he wears over a dark gray button-up shirt and a black tie. When he comes out of his room, Claire is standing in front of his door, waiting… with Sam.

“Uh… hello, Sam,” Castiel says, surprised.

Sam smiles. “Dean said you have a date, and that I should make sure you were doing his vest-thing justice.”

Castiel spreads his arms out. “Am I?”

“Maybe tuck your shirt in.” Sam says.

Castiel does so, realizing a few moments too late that he could have done that in the privacy of his room. “Better?”

“Hmmm… roll up your sleeves. I know Meg, she’s not that formal.”

Castiel rolls up his sleeves.

“What do you think of the tie?” Claire says, looking at Sam, who regards Castiel’s tie carefully.

“Too safe. Do you have a purple one?”

“Or red,” Claire says.

“Yes! Red!”

“I, uh…” Castiel retreats into his room, unsurprised when Claire and Sam follow. “I have two…”

“Dude,” Claire says, looking around the room. “You haven’t finished unpacking? I did that on day one.”

Castiel looks around as well. A great deal of his belongings are still boxed or bagged.

“I can’t believe out of the two of us _I’m_ the one that got their room sorted first.”

“My apologies, mother,” Castiel says tersely.

Claire just grins. “I’m unpacking your room while you’re gone. Unless there’s stuff you don’t want to me to see.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’m afraid I’ve got nothing scandalous, sorry to disappoint,” he says, digging through the plastic grocery bag containing his ties. He hasn’t owned items of a “vulgar” nature for a very long time; Amelia abhorred such things. Perhaps now that Castiel is single and settled in a new home, he should purchase adult items. Or he can get a bottle of lotion and some Victoria’s Secret catalogs like he did when he was younger.

Perhaps that’s something to mull over when Castiel _isn’t_ in a room with his daughter and his landlord’s brother.

He holds up his two red ties for Claire and Sam to inspect. The tie in his left hand is a bright blood red tie that Castiel’s had since he was eighteen, the right one is a slightly pinker shade with some faint pinstripes. Castiel bought it because it reminded him of raspberries and he was clothes shopping while hungry.

“That one,” Claire and Sam say in unison, pointing to the raspberry tie.

“It’s kicky,” Claire adds.

“ _Kicky_?” Castiel says, baffled.

“Peppy? I don’t know. It adds flavor.”

Castiel loops the tie around his neck to start the knot. “Do I want to look peppy?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Sam says. “Do you have any product?”

Castiel’s lost. “Product? Like… marijuana? I’ve never really been into it, but if you think it would help—”

“Holy shit he means _hair product,_ ” Claire says, sounding exasperated, “what is _wrong_ with you?”

“I’m _nervous,_ Claire.”

“I’ll say.”

“I think I have some hair gel,” Castiel says.

“No, no,” Sam says, shaking his head, “that’ll make your hair crunchy. I’ll go see what Dean has.”

“Those Winchester boys sure are friendly, huh?” Claire says once Sam is out of the room.

“They seem rather determined to take me under their wing.”

“Good. You deserve it, Dad. I really want you to have a good life here… you lost so much because of me, and I—”

“Claire. Don’t say it like that, as though you ruined my life.”

Claire’s eyes are watering. “Didn’t I?”

“No. _Never_. Anyone that can’t treat you the way you deserve… that’s not someone I want in my life.” Castiel grabs Claire’s shoulders. “Please… please try to believe that. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I’m getting there,” Claire says softly.

Castiel kisses the top of her head. “You didn’t ruin my life, Claire-bear, you’re the best part of it.”

Claire rushes forward to hug Castiel, and he gives her a solid squeeze before Sam comes back in holding two plastic jars.

“Woah, bad time?”

Claire sniffles and pulls back. “Just the tail end of a touching Hallmark moment.”

“Aww, I love those!”

Sam and Claire spend a few minutes working mousse into Castiel’s hair, twisting and smoothing until they’re both satisfied. Claire beams proudly when they’re done and snaps a photo with her phone.

“Feels like I’m sending you off to prom,” she says.

“Should I bring Meg a corsage?” Castiel replies.

“I think you’re kidding, but in case you aren’t, _don’t_ ,” Sam pleads.

“Come on, Dad! It’s almost seven, you gotta go!” Claire says, pulling Castiel out of his room.

“Right, right.” Castiel sighs as grabs his wallet and keys. “I’m so nervous.”

“Don’t be,” Sam says. “She asked _you_ out, right?”

“Right.”

“So she’s already into you.”

“I think that’s what has me nervous.”

Sam grins. “I don’t blame you.”

“Alright,” Claire says, “go on, get out of here. I won’t wait up.”

“ _Claire._ ”

“I’m kidding. Have fun!”

“Yeah, good luck, Cas!” Sam says.

Castiel waves and then he’s out in the hall, on his way to a date. Part of him wants to run back into the apartment. He’s not going to, though. That would be unfair to Meg. He can do this.

He's fairly certain he can do this.

Dean’s door opens and Dean walks out, stopping in his tracks when he sees Castiel. He looks Castiel over, eyes wide.

“I was uh… just coming to get Claire and Sam for dinner,” he mumbles.

“It smells incredible,” Castiel says.

“Yeah, uh… garlic bread just came out.”

It’s odd, but Castiel really, really wants to hear from Dean that he looks okay. “Do you think Meg will like this?” he says, gesturing at himself.

Dean swallows so hard Castiel can actually hear it. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. You look… uh… you look good. Really good, I think.”

Castiel breathes a small sigh of relief. “Thank you, Dean.”

“You better uh… you better get going, Cas. I’ll save you some garlic bread.”

“That would be wonderful,” Castiel says, forcing himself towards the elevator. “See you later, Dean.”

Castiel doesn’t hear Dean knock on his apartment door until he’s almost to the elevators, and for a fleeting moment he wonders if Dean was watching him walk away.

  
  


*

  
  


It’s three minutes after seven when Castiel knocks on Meg’s door. Immediately, he hears the sound of hounds howling inside, and Meg yelling “Alright, alright, settle down!” before the door opens.

She looks… deadly. Tight black jeans, a black leather jacket, and black boots with heels that look like they could kill someone. Castiel has a moment of renewed panic about his own appearance until Meg whistles, cherry-red lips curling into a grin.

“Way to deliver, Clarence, you look good enough to eat.”

Castiel has no idea if she’s calling him Clarence as a throwback to their earlier conversation, or if she’s legitimately forgotten his name.

He’s too nervous to ask.

A large pitbull wiggles its way between Meg and the door frame, looking up at Castiel and letting out a deep bark that has Castiel taking a surprised step back.

“ _Azazel,_ ” Meg says sternly. “Don’t be scared of him, the worst he’ll do to you is stuff his nose in your crotch.”

“Should I be scared for my virtue, then?” Castiel says, holding out a hand for Azazel. The dog deems Castiel either acceptable or uninteresting and disappears back into the house after a few sniffs.

“Do you have any virtue to lose?”

Castiel smiles. “Perhaps.”

Meg steps onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind her. “Sweet.”

  
  


*

  
  


Meg directs Castiel to drive to a lovely and overpriced French bistro a handful of miles away. She reminds Castiel that dinner is on her, then says “But if you get lobster, you have to put out.”

Castiel’s mostly sure that she’s joking, but all the same he opts for the chicken.

Dinner conversation is typical but informative. Castiel learns that Meg works in a vegan bakery, but isn’t vegan, shares her house with three dogs, rents her second bedroom to a professional dominatrix named Abaddon, and has a deep love for Korean dramas.

Castiel in turn talks about his daughter, his new apartment, his former job, and his deep love for knitting.

“You knit?” Meg’s grinning. Castiel likes how often she smiles.

“I haven’t in eons, it’s been a busy and chaotic year. I don’t even have the supplies for it… but I do love knitting.”

“Very domestic. Do you love cooking and cleaning too?”

“I’m a terrible cook, actually, though Dean taught me to make meatloaf yesterday.”

“Dean?”

“My landlord. He’s been bringing Claire and I food, he’s very kind.”

“Landlord? You mean Dean _Winchester_?”

“That’s him. He did mention he knew you…”

“Dean Winchester brings you _food_?”

“It’s a bit at odds with his uh… gruff exterior, I suppose.”

Meg snorts. “I’ll fucking say.”

The night wears on, and two things become very clear to Castiel. He really likes Meg, and he feels no romantic spark. Having been on only a few first dates in his life, this is a new experience for Castiel. Then again, in all those previous first dates, Castiel was young, now he’s not. Maybe this sort of thing takes time. He wonders how insulting Meg would find it if he asked.

Meg seems amused when they return to her house and Castiel offers to walk her to her porch, but she indulges him.

“Angling for a goodnight kiss, Clarence?”

A kiss. Perhaps a kiss is a good idea, maybe that’s what Castiel needs to make this feel less… platonic.

“I might be,” Castiel says with confidence he absolutely does not have.

He walks her up the cactus lined path to her well lit porch. He’s nervous. In this moment he’s not even sure he remembers how to kiss.

“Well, here we are,” Meg says.

“Thank you for dinner, Meg, I had a lovely time.”

“You make good company.”

“And the ah… the food was very good.”

Meg rolls her eyes. “You’re really gonna beat around the bush about this, aren’t you?” She grabs him by the tie and pulls him into a kiss.

Nothing.

It’s nice, because kissing in general is nice and Meg is a fine kisser, but that spark Castiel’s been waiting for doesn’t come. After a moment or two, Meg pulls back and regards Castiel inquisitively.

“Nothing, huh?”

“I apologize, I just didn’t quite—”

“Hey, it’s cool, Clarence. Sometimes it’s just not there. I mean it’s there for _me,_ ” Meg says, eyes roaming over Castiel. “I could climb you like a tree. But it’s no fun if I’m the only one into it.”

“I really did have a good time,” Castiel says, feeling somehow ashamed.

“Well, I did too, so I’m putting my number in your phone.” Castiel is startled to see Meg has his phone in her hands. How did she do that? “Shoot me a text sometime, I do friend-dates too.”

Castiel smiles, relieved. “Thank you, Meg.”

“No problem. I’m gonna head in now, Abaddon promised to break out the strap-on if I struck out tonight,” Meg says with a wink.

Castiel doesn’t stop blushing the entire drive home.

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel is a bit surprised by the scene that greets him when he gets to his apartment. Kevin and Kaia are back, squeezed onto the couch with Claire and Sam, everyone holding a video game controller. Claire doesn’t own a video game console, so Castiel’s not sure where those came from. The game looks chaotic. Castiel’s not entirely sure what’s happening in it, but he thinks they might be battling each other.

“Hey, Dad!” Claire says, not looking away from the screen. “Hope it’s okay to have people over, kinda thought you’d be out longer.” Claire grimaces. “That came out wrong.”

“It’s fine, I had a good time.”

Something loud and bright happens in the game, and all four players yell out “OOOHHH!!!” in unison.

“If you’re hungry, Dean left you some garlic bread in the kitchen,” Sam says. “ _And_ he’s baking cookies… should be done soon.”

“Maybe I’ll just… go see how that’s going.” It comes out awkwardly, but no one seems to notice.

Castiel feels his now typical nervousness as he crosses the hall and knocks on Dean’s door, but he powers through it. Dean is nothing to fear.

“Hey,” Dean says, pulling open the door. The scent of baked goods hits Castiel like a freight train, what a _divine_ smell. “How’d it go?”

“It was nice… maybe a bit disappointing,” Castiel admits.

Dean steps aside so Castiel can come in. “Struck out, huh?”

“Yes. Well, no…” Castiel follows Dean to the kitchen. “I suppose _she_ struck out.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t feel any sort of… romantic connection. I’m not sure if… I mean maybe it takes time. Or maybe it’s still too soon after the divorce. Or maybe—”

“Maybe it just wasn’t there, Cas, it happens. I was with this girl Charlie long time ago… we made a lot of sense, looked great together, kind of balanced each other out personality wise, but god _damn_ there was no spark at all.” Dean frowns. “Actually Charlie ended up realizing she was full-on gay, so maybe that’s a bad example. Okay, Lisa. Lisa was sweet, fun, hot, _great_ in bed, but romantically it wasn’t there. Or there was this chick Sam dated, Amelia.”

Castiel snorts.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just… that’s my ex-wife’s name.”

“Your ex ain’t a fluffy-haired veterinarian I hope.”

Castiel chuckles. “Sunday school teacher.”

“Good, that would have been fuckin’ weird. Anyway, Sam and Amelia sounded great on paper, they really got along intellectually, but holy _shit_ they were the romantic equivalent of watching paint dry.”

“That bad?”

“It was brutal, man. I’ve never seen two people with less chemistry, and I’m including me and my lesbian ex-girlfriend. And there was nothing wrong with either of them, you know? It just wasn’t there. I mean… sometimes it doesn’t happen right away though, there’s that to consider. But there’s no point in _forcing_ it in the hope that something will happen.” Dean sighs, looking agitated. “Was any of this helpful?”

Castiel nods. “I think so.”

“Romantic advice isn’t really my area of expertise. People always think I’m too closed off or too intense or both. They’re _right,_ so…. and I guess I’m not… I don’t always _like_ people… I’m… uh…”

The oven timer goes off, and Dean sags in relief before practically running for the kitchen. Unsure if he should follow, Castiel remains standing in the living room. He listens to the sound of the oven being opened, and Dean taking a deep inhale. He definitely wants some of whatever cookies Dean made.

There’s a presence at Castiel’s feet, and he smiles at the bundle of white fur shedding all over his slacks. “Hello there, nameless cat.”

“Sugar,” Dean says from the kitchen doorway.

Castiel looks up at Dean with a raised eyebrow. “Yes… honey?” he says dryly.

Dean’s eyes widen and he shakes his head vigorously. “The _cat,_ Cas, I named the cat Sugar.”

“Oh… uh… that’s a good name.”

Dean sighs. “Just come eat some fucking cookies before one of us does something embarrassing again.”

  
  


*

  
  


Much later, when Sam has left to drive Claire’s friends home and Castiel is in his pajamas for the night, Claire comes knocking.

“You awake?”

“I am, come in.”

Claire walks in holding their battered copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. She looks embarrassed. “Sometimes when I’m really… active and social, there’s uh… like a come down after. Like a sugar crash.”

“Are you okay?” Castiel says, frowning.

“Yeah, just… lonely.”

Castiel scoots to the side of his bed, and Claire clambers onto the bed, all limbs and blonde hair.

“You had a good time though, right?” Castiel asks.

“Oh, yeah! I had a lot of fun, even though Sam beat the shit out of all of us in Smash Brothers. But he _owns_ it, of course he’s had more practice!” Claire hands over the book and gets situated next to Castiel. “Uh… how was the date? Please spare any gory details.”

“There are none to spare,” Castiel says, flipping to where they left off in the book.

“Struck out, yeah?”

“ _No,_ ” Castiel says, offended. “Why do people keep assuming that? She was interested, I wasn’t.”

“Touchy, touchy.”

“She said I could contact her for a… friend date sometime, so at least my social circle is expanding.”

Claire nudges Castiel with her elbow. “Check us out, we’re like… social butterflies now.”

“I wonder what the people in Pontiac would say if they could see us now?”

“For once in my life, I don’t think I care,” Claire says, leaning against the back of the bed and closing her eyes. “Come on, that bedtime story isn’t gonna read itself.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

The rest of the weekend passes relatively quickly. Castiel spends most of it with Claire, working with her to get her caught up in her classes. It’s a lot of work, and it’ll take more than one weekend to get her where she needs to be as far as math goes, but she should be caught up by the time her midterms roll around. She’s very smart, very determined. When Castiel suggests studying with her friends, Claire says they have too much fun together, she’ll never get anything done. Such a far cry from the sullen teenager that was too depressed to care about being more than a solid C plus student. Castiel is overwhelmed by how proud he is, and a little morose that Amelia might never know how much happier their daughter is now.

When Monday rolls around, Castiel is nervous, far more than he was for his date with Meg. Job interviews have always made Castiel nervous, when he can feel his future in the hands of a complete stranger.

The stranger holding his future today is… peculiar. He’s the majority partner in the firm Castiel’s applying at, with a large office, imposing desk, high-backed chair… and he’s wearing cargo shorts. The feet he has propped up on his desk are bare. He’s drinking a _mimosa._ Every other person Castiel’s seen in this building has been dressed like Castiel; business casual to business formal. But this man… this man has lime green nail polish on his toes. _Ugly_ lime green nail polish. Dear God in heaven.

“I see you’re admiring the paint job,” the man, Mr. Charleson says.

“Admiring is a strong word,” Castiel says, mouth faster than his brain. He grimaces when he realizes what he’s just said, but Mr. Charleson looks gleeful.

“Lost a bet with my kid,” he says, wiggling his toes. “Did you know Pluto isn’t a planet anymore?”

Castiel nods slowly. “Ah… yes…”

“Well, no one told _me_! Anyway… the little pipsqueak won, so she got to paint my toes. You got kids…” Mr. Charleson looks at the papers on his desk. “You got kids, Castiel?”

“I have a daughter, she’s seventeen.”

“Married?”

“Her or me?”

“You.”

“Divorced.”

“Amicable?”

“Not even slightly.”

“Recent?”

“Last year.”

“Custody?”

“Mine.”

Mr. Charleson whistles. “Same here. Wouldn’t have it any other way. New wife’s a peach, too. Great with the kiddo, never throws dishes, and God _damn_ can that woman drink me under the table!” He grins, staring off into space for a moment. “Sorry, I’m gushing. Five year wedding anniversary coming up, still trying to decide what to get for Donna.”

Castiel smiles. “Congratulations on the anniversary, that’s wonderful.”

“Ain’t it? Last marriage barely cracked the one year mark. Can’t complain, though. Got the pipsqueak after all.” Mr. Charleson sighs happily. “Anyway, I was looking over your resume, and… you seem a bit overqualified for this job. This is a glorified assistant position… it seems, I don’t know… beneath you?”

“Any full time job with benefits is not beneath me, I assure you.”

“Good answer. My brothers like having wide-eyed interns for the position, but that’s gone pretty damn poorly over the past several years, so we’re trying it this way. There’s a lot of filing, typing, scheduling, fetching shit, sometimes driving to fetch shit… you good with all that?”

“I am.”

“Cool, cool. Now I see here that ‘Castiel Novak’ is an alias… will I come across anything troubling when I run a background check?”

Castiel frowns. “I suppose that depends on your definition of troubling. I certainly don’t have a criminal past, if that’s what you mean.”

“Mhmm. What will I find, then?”

Castiel sighs. This is not his information to share. “I’ve mentioned my daughter… I suppose a background check will report me as having a son.”

“ _Oh._ ”

“That should be the only disparity.”

“Sounds good to me! Give me a day for the background check, and can you start on… Wednesday?”

Castiel’s jaw actually drops. “Really? _Thank you,_ Mr. Charleson.”

“Call me Gabriel. And remember that gratitude when the other partners are yelling at you for not finding a typo in their monthly report or forcing you to drive back to the deli because their sandwich doesn’t have enough fucking pickles on it.”

Castiel smiles. “I will.”

  
  


*

  
  


When Castiel comes home, he has a moment. A very intense, very confused moment. Dean is washing a lovely black behemoth of a car in the parking lot, his usual flannel traded for a very… _well fitting_ black t-shirt. His arms are wet and soapy, and he looks so focused on his task, he doesn’t even seem to notice when Castiel parks a few spots away, or when Castiel walks up to him.

He looks good, Castiel realizes. In fact, Dean _always_ looks good. This is something Castiel has been aware of since they met, and yet it feels like somehow he’s just now realizing it.

Apparently Dean has a tattoo. It’s on his left bicep, and though it’s partially obscured by the sleeve of his t-shirt, it looks to be a pile of skulls.

Grim.

Dean finally notices Castiel gawking at him, and gives a friendly wave. His smile is unencumbered, cheerful even. It’s beautiful.

“Cas, I’d like you to meet Baby. Baby, this is Cas.”

It feels like it takes forever for Castiel to remember to open his mouth and respond. “You named your car Baby?”

“Yeah, what do you call yours?”

“Nothing… though Claire sometimes calls it the ‘Pimpmobile’.”

“ _Nice._ Hey, you had an interview today right? How’d it go?”

“I got the job.”

“Wow, that was easy.”

“It does make me wonder if I should have gone after something a little less… entry level. But the pay is good, there are benefits, and the commute is negligible. Right now that’s all I care about. I start Wednesday.”

“Well congratulations, man. That’s awesome news. Calls for a celebration, in fact. I’m gonna make burgers tonight.”

“ _Really,_ ” Castiel says with enthusiasm.

“Actually I was already planning on the burgers but I’ll make them _extra_ good in honor of your news,” Dean says with a wink.

Castiel can feel himself blushing, which is… odd. But it’s not unpleasant.

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel spends the rest of the afternoon puttering around the apartment. He unpacks everything still in boxes and bags, does sniff tests on all his work-suitable clothing to make sure nothing needs washing, hangs his ties. His room finally looks lived in, though it could use some decorative personal touches. He wonders how amenable Claire would be to getting a family photo taken somewhere. Right now the only current photo he has of the two of them is a close-up of their smiling faces taken with his phone’s camera. Claire called it a “selfie”, but Castiel can’t bring himself to use that word.

Claire comes home and gets straight to work on her assignments. When Castiel tells her he got the job, she squeals and punches him so hard his arm hurts for hours.

Dean comes by at seven with bacon cheeseburgers and fries. He doesn’t join them for dinner, but he looks pleased at Castiel and Claire’s enthusiasm for the food. The burgers are _wonderful,_ even better than the ones at Harvelle’s. They’re juicy, flavorful, they’ve been infused with gorgonzola, and the bacon Dean used is far, far better than the stuff Amelia used to buy for the house. The buns are toasted with a hint of garlic butter and oregano, and even the lettuce and tomatoes seem fresh and perfect. If Dean ever offers to show Castiel how to cook something again, he hopes it’s this.

“If you ever get married again,” Claire says around a mouthful of burger, “let it be to him.”

Castiel chokes on his water.

  
  


*

  
  


No one calls to say there was some horrible issue with Castiel’s background check, so on Wednesday he gets dressed in black slacks and a tucked in white oxford shirt, shaves his stubble, and devotes fifteen minutes to making his hair presentable before leaving.

He spends the first ninety minutes of his shift following a kind but impatient woman named Rachel around the office. She shows him his desk, gives him a tour, goes into his duties in detail, mentions a few upcoming office events, and so on. Essentially, Castiel is _everyone’s_ assistant. He’s to prioritize tasks by the rank of the person in need of assistance. If Castiel is filing five hundred documents for Naomi in legal and Michael Charleson wants a coffee from his favorite shop two miles away, Castiel is to drop everything and get Michael his coffee.

Castiel takes diligent notes as Rachel talks, something that makes her smile in approval.

“Look, don’t worry if you feel overwhelmed and frantic the first few days, you’ll get the hang of it,” Rachel says. She lowers her voice a bit. “And don’t let the partners intimidate or bully you. Michael, Lucifer, and Raphael can be… rude, even scary, but all hiring and firing goes through Gabriel. Lucifer can _not_ have you fired for taking thirty seconds too long fetching his lunch, regardless of what he says.”

“Well, that’s not worrisome,” Castiel says.

“I’m making you nervous, I apologize. The partners have gotten used to young, terrified college interns, they might treat you as such.”

“Gabriel did mention there were… issues with previous assistants.”

“We’ve gone through _twelve_ in the past two years.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. Gabriel certainly didn’t mention that in the interview. “ _Twelve_?”

Rachel smiles, patting Castiel on the shoulder. “Let’s just say if you’ve been wondering why this position comes with such great pay and benefits, you won’t be wondering that by the end of the day. Now, if they try to rope you into working for them in your off-shift time, tell them no. If they think you’ll be at their beck and call during non-work hours, they’ll be calling you at all times of the day making demands.”

Castiel’s beginning to wonder if he’s made a terrible mistake.

  
  


*

  
  


The tour ends, and Castiel isn’t at his new desk two full minutes before his phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Is that how you answer the phone?” says the testy voice on the other end.

“Yes?”

“This isn’t your _house,_ answer with your name, and ask how you can help me.”

“I uh, apologize—”

The man hangs up.

Castiel sighs, bewildered, and the phone rings again. He picks it up warily. “Hello?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, what did I _just_ say!” the man barks.

“S-sorry, I—”

The man hangs up again. Castiel puts his face in his hands. The phone rings.

“This is Castiel Novak, how can I help you?”

“Oh good, you _can_ learn.”

Be friendly, be friendly, be friendly. Castiel can do this. “What can I do for you?”

“I was worried you were a complete idiot.”

Castiel grits his teeth. “How can I assist you?”

“Sir.”

“What?”

“How can I assist you, _sir._ ”

This day is going to end with Castiel fired and facing assault and battery charges. “How can I assist you, _sir_?”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, we’ll make a decent assistant out of you yet, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart? “Did you actually call for something?” Castiel snaps.

The man is silent for a long moment. “You ought to be more respectful of your superiors, newbie.”

“My superiors?”

“This is Lucifer Charleson. As in the _Charleson_ Firm.”

Castiel already misses how relatively invisible he was in Pontiac. He’s had more conflict in this single conversation than he did in an entire year at his old job.

Still, Castiel was told only Gabriel can fire him, and that he needs to show he’s not some sort of doormat. “Congratulations on being aptly named, Lucifer. Please call back when you have a task for me,” he says, then he hangs up.

Someone starts clapping, and Castiel turns to see Gabriel leaning against the wall, grinning. He’s in cargo shorts again, but he does have shoes on this time. Well, sandals. He’s also managed to find a t-shirt that matches his toenails.

“I knew I liked you for a reason. That was some grade-A sass there, Cassie,” he says, practically bursting with pride.

Cassie? “So I _didn’t_ just get myself fired?”

“I’m gonna be real with you, Cassie. As long as you do your job well, I don’t give a rat’s ass how much you piss off the other partners.” The phone rings again, and before Castiel can answer Gabriel steps forward. “Allow me. This is Lu-Ann,” he says in a high-pitched voice, “how may I direct your call?”

Castiel can’t make out the response, but he can definitely hear Lucifer yelling.

“Oh he did, did he?” Gabriel says, voice back to normal. He gives Castiel a thumbs up. “No, I’m not gonna fire him.” Gabriel pauses as there’s more yelling on Lucifer’s end. “I don’t _care_ if you don’t like him, he’s not here to be your blushing, mini-skirted work slave, cupcake.” Even more yelling on Lucifer’s end. “Nope, you had your chance. At this point I don’t care if he spits in your fucking coffee.” Gabriel covers the receiver with his hand and whispers, “Don’t spit in his coffee.” Lucifer yells some more. “Oh _really,_ well you can take that up with our dear departed Dad, you bag of dicks. I’m the head honcho no matter how much you scream like a toddler… he hung up on me!” Gabriel grins at Castiel.

Castiel stares slack-jawed at Gabriel for at least fifteen seconds before closing his mouth. “That was… educational.”

“Yeah? _Anyway,_ this is your bluetooth… thingy for when you’re away from your desk,” Gabriel says, setting a hunk of plastic on the desk. “Should be all ready to go. I don’t recommend taking that home, or letting the other partners have your personal number.”

“O-okay…”

“Alright!” Gabriel says, clapping his hands together. “Back to work!”

All Castiel can do is stare and watch as Gabriel walks away, whistling what sounds like the theme song to Full House.

  
  


*

  
  


Lucifer doesn’t call again, but plenty of other people do. Castiel spends his day fetching coffees and lunches, filing, and playing computer solitaire. When five o’clock rolls around, he gathers his things and looks up to see Hannah from Human Resources ambling over, carrying a massive gift basket.

“Castiel! Glad I caught you,” Hannah says, setting the gift basket on his desk.

“What is—”

“Gabriel called it a ‘signing bonus’. He’s in great spirits today, I heard it’s because you upset Lucifer.”

“To be fair, Gabriel contributed.”

Hannah chuckles. “I don’t doubt it. Enjoy!” she says, patting the basket.

Castiel’s had a few jobs in his life, none of them had a first day like _this._

  
  


*

  
  


When Castiel walks into his building, Dean is just coming out of the elevator.

“Holy shit,” he says, eyeing Castiel’s gift basket, “I guess I don’t have to ask how your day went.”

“I essentially received a prize for angering one of my superiors, so it was an odd day.”

“Is that a Hickory Farms basket?”

“If you want to come by later, maybe I’ll let you snatch up a few things.”

“Awesome. Love me some summer sausage. Headed to the store… how do you feel about roast beef sandwiches? Just need to get some rolls.”

How long is Castiel going to keep letting Dean make him dinner? “Dean, you don’t have to…”

Dean looks at Castiel, expression open but timid. Taking care of people makes Dean feel good, Castiel knows. Maybe he should stop looking at it like he and Claire are taking advantage.

He shakes his head and smiles. “I love roast beef.”

“Cas, if I’m—”

“You’re not. I’ll see you soon Dean.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

Life drifts toward routine.

Castiel works, Claire goes to school and studies, Dean often shows up with dinner. Once in a while they’re able to talk Dean into joining them. Sometimes Sam joins as well. Weekends are spent helping Claire with homework, maybe watching movies with Dean or watching Claire play with Sam’s video game console.

Towards the end of the month Castiel exits his apartment in the morning and is surprised to see Sam decorating Dean’s door with cut outs of animals wearing party hats and what looks like an old Christmas tree garland. Sam looks over and grins at him, holding a finger to his lips.

“Don’t wanna wake him up,” he says quietly.

“Is it Dean’s birthday?”

“The big three five.”

“I had no idea he had a birthday coming…”

“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. He hates his birthday. You know how some people are. He’s gonna hate this, and the fact that I’m gonna drag him out for dinner and bowling later, but he’ll live.”

“Does he accept presents?”

Sam snickers. “Begrudgingly.”

“Hmm… that’s good to know.”

“Don’t get him anything too fancy… he gets real awkward about it. Aim for thoughtful over impressive.”

Castiel nods solemnly. “Thoughtful. I can do thoughtful. Thank you, Sam.”

  
  


*

  
  


In his brief time at the Charleson Firm, Castiel has learned a few things about the partners. Michael is stern and impatient, Raphael is blunt and unforgiving, Gabriel is energetic and chaotic, and Lucifer is a horrific combination of all of those things. Castiel doesn’t at all enjoy their company aside from Gabriel, so when he realizes Lucifer is lurking behind his chair during lunch, it takes everything in him not to turn around and throw something at him.

“Go away,” he says, because there is no punishment for being curt to Lucifer, “this is my lunch break.” Castiel is ruder to Lucifer than he has ever been to anyone in his _life,_ and it’s been kind of strangely liberating.

“We have a lovely breakroom, why are you eating at your desk?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I need to buy someone a gift after work, I’m researching stores.”

“Who’s the gift for? Gabriel tells me you’re divorced.”

“I have friends, you realize.”

“Do you?”

“ _Yes._ Do _you_?”

“Of course.”

“Then go bother one of them.”

Lucifer sighs and strolls away, knocking things over on every desk he passes like a petulant overgrown cat.

“ _Ugh,_ ” Castiel mutters before plugging more search terms into Google.

Jasperville has a pretty good selection of stores, but Castiel doesn’t quite know what to get for Dean. A thoughtful gift for his landlord of less than a month. What exactly falls into that category? Flowers? Flowers are thoughtful, though Castiel has never bought them for another man before. Painting supplies? Kitchen tools? Cat toys for Sugar?

He spends his shift having an internal debate over his various gift ideas. It leaves him distracted to the point of incompetence several times. A few hours after lunch, Lucifer storms up to Castiel’s desk, slamming down a stapled set of papers on top of Castiel’s keyboard.

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?” he barks, gesturing at the document.

Castiel thumbs through it, dismayed to see that not only are half the pages upside-down, they’re out of sequence as well. “My apologies, I’ll fix it right away.”

“Most people wait more than a couple of weeks before they start turning into shit workers.”

“I am just distracted, I’m sorry. I’ll pay better attention.”

“Distracted by what?” Lucifer narrows his eyes. “Your gift? _Still_? Who the hell spends this much time worrying about a damn gift?”

“Plenty of people I’m sure,” Castiel says, pulling the staples out of the document so he can put things in the right order.

“Who’s it for?”

Castiel shuffles through the papers. “Why do you care?”

“Tell me.”

“No.” Castiel staples the corrected document together and hands it to Lucifer. “Go away.”

“This isn’t over,” Lucifer says menacingly, pointing at Castiel with his papers before stomping away.

Castiel pays better attention after that but that doesn’t stop Lucifer from returning at five, flanked by the other three partners.

“Am I being fired?” Castiel says warily.

“Of course not,” Michael says, at the same time Lucifer says “maybe”.

“You’ve been pretty unflappable since you started here,” Gabriel says, “we were just curious about what’s got you so rattled.”

Castiel shakes his head. “ _Or,_ Lucifer wants to know who I’m buying a gift for, and you’re all bored enough to go along with him because it’s the end of the day.”

Raphael smiles, for what might be the first time ever. “It’s almost frightening how well he has us pegged already.”

Gabriel snorts. “You know who likes being pegged—”

“Regardless,” Michael interrupts, “we want to know.”

“ _Why_?”

“Tell us!” Gabriel demands.

Castiel narrows his eyes, looking back and forth between the partners. “You’ve made some sort of bet, haven’t you?”

Michael grimaces, while Gabriel and Lucifer both grin. Of course. It’s not the first time he’s seen the partners have some petty bet running. Bored, rich men are terrible.

“Tell me the bet,” Castiel says, “and I’ll tell you who the gift is for.” He’s playing along in the vain hope that one of them will actually give a useful suggestion, because he’s going shopping after this and he still doesn’t know what to get for Dean.

“I bet it was for a girlfriend,” Michael says.

“I bet it was for your kid,” Gabriel says.

“I thought perhaps the gift was for a parent,” Raphael says.

Lucifer grins salaciously. “My money’s on boyfriend.”

“Winner gets four thousand dollars,” Gabriel adds.

What an appalling amount of money for a casual office wager. “Well good news, then. You’re all wrong, it’s for a platonic friend.” The partners all groan in disappointment, and Castiel looks at Lucifer. “I don’t understand how you got this wrong, I _told_ you it was for a friend hours ago.”

“I thought you were lying! Who gets this worked up about a gift for a _friend_?”

“I want… he’s my landlord, and I just found out it’s his birthday, and he’s been so kind to me and my daughter, and he was the first friend I made in this town, I want to get him something special.”

“Jesus, you’re adorable,” Gabriel says.

“That’s very helpful, thank you.”

“Well,” Michael says, “what’s he like? What are his hobbies?”

“Dean is… gruff… but also very warm when he opens up. He’s a wonderful cook, a gifted painter… he loves his car. He’s kind, and shy...” Castiel finds himself staring off into space. “He has a lovely smile.”

He hears the sound of rustling paper and looks over to the partners handing wads of cash to a smirking Lucifer.

“He’s a _friend,_ ” Castiel insists. “I don't even date men.”

“Uh huh,” all four partners say in unison.

Castiel stands and snatches up his things while the partners snicker like children. “I loathe every last one of you,” he says, storming away from his desk.

“Get him a bouquet of roses!” Michael says.

“A heart shaped box of chocolates!” Lucifer adds.

“Flavored lube!” Gabriel shouts.

  
  


*

  
  


After texting Claire to dip into their leftovers for dinner, Castiel drives to the Jasperville Mall. He drifts from store to store, waiting for something to jump out at him. It’s getting very late in the evening and Castiel is crestfallen when he realizes the mall will be closing soon.

That’s when Castiel remembers a conversation he had with Dean two weekends ago. They were sitting on Dean’s couch, watching a movie that ended up being dull, and the two of them got to chatting instead of keeping up with the plot. Dean had been talking about making stew, and how he ought to get a slow cooker and see if it made his stews more tender and flavorful. When Castiel asked Dean why he didn’t already have one, Dean shrugged and said “You know what? I don’t know. I think about it once in a while, but haven’t actually tried to get one. I should look into that.”

As far as Castiel knows, Dean still hasn’t actually gotten one.

_Perfect._

Or… less than perfect. The department store is on the other side of the mall, and Castiel is almost out of time. He takes a few seconds to wonder if maybe he really is fretting too much about this gift, then sighs and starts running across the mall.

  
  


*

  
  


“Isn’t that a bit _advanced_ for a cooking novice?” Claire says as Castiel sets the box containing the slow cooker on their table.

“This is for Dean, it’s his birthday.”

“You got him _that_?”

“Don’t poke holes in this bubble, Claire,” Castiel pleads, “it took me _hours_ to choose a gift.”

“I’m not poking holes. It’s a good gift, I promise.”

“But?”

“But nothing! I’m glad you found something, you gonna wrap it?”

“We don’t have any wrapping paper… I suppose I could wrap it in cartoons from the newspaper like you did when you were younger.”

“You should! It’s uh… kitschy! I’ll even make a bow.”

Castiel smiles. “That would be lovely, Claire.”

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel knows he doesn’t have to give Dean his gift _today,_ but that doesn’t stop him from waiting up the rest of the night, reading on the couch so he’ll be able to hear when Dean comes back.

On some level he knows he’s being… weird about this; what he doesn’t know is _why._

It’s getting close to midnight when Dean finally comes home. Castiel’s starting to doze, but he jolts awake at the faint sound of keys in the hall. He scrambles to his feet, wiping away the drool at the corner of his mouth and running his fingers through his hair before rushing out to the hallway. Dean’s already in his apartment, so Castiel knocks.

Dean is… a mess. There are streaks of blue and pink in his hair, glitter all over his face and clothes, and his t-shirt has a big rip down the center. Even the odd little amulet Dean always wears has glitter and some yellow paint on it.

“What… what _happened_ to you?” Castiel manages to say.

“Samuel. Henry. Winchester,” Dean grumbles.

“He told me he was taking you to dinner and _bowling_.”

Dean sags against the door frame. “He got carried away. Somehow we ended up at god damn Sparkle Junction.”

Castiel’s lost. “Is… is that slang?”

Dean huffs out a small laugh. “Sparkle Junction is what happens when a nightclub, a strip club, and a rave get smashed into one place. I went from bowling a decent game with my kid brother to a damn _party_ with Sam, Jo, Ash, and a bunch of people I don’t even talk to. Sam wanted to bring you, but I told him there was no way you’d be into that.” Dean frowns. “I hope I wasn’t wrong?”

“I’ve uh… never been to that sort of establishment, but I like to think I’m open to new experiences.”

Dean smirks. “If that’s the case, we can head there now. I’m the only one that left, party’s still going.”

Castiel grimaces. “You called my bluff.”

“Thought so.”

“I um… I got you a gift.”

Dean’s smirk instantly transforms into a small, pleased smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, just uh… one second.” Castiel darts back into the apartment to grab the wrapped gift off the coffee table, then follows Dean into his apartment.

“Can’t believe you got me a _present,_ man. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, if you don’t _want_ it…” Castiel says, smiling playfully.

Dean snatches the box out of Castiel’s hands and sets it down on the couch. “Oof, heavy. Love the bow,” he says, flicking the elaborate bow Claire made with several strips of newspaper and some tape.

“Claire made it,” Castiel says, heart warming at the way Dean so carefully detaches the bow and sets it aside.

He rips the newspaper away, eyes lighting up with unbridled delight when he sees the box. “Dude. _Dude._ ”

“I hope you didn’t go out and get one already…”

“I don’t… shit, I can’t believe you actually got me a damn slow cooker. Thanks, Cas.”

Dean really does have a wonderful smile.

“C’mere,” Dean says, pulling Castiel into a hug. He smells nice, like that woodsy sort of soap he favors, and a little like whatever paint is on his clothes. Castiel hugs him back, lulled in by the comforting warmth of Dean’s embrace.

A minute passes, and Castiel realizes he’s still hugging Dean. A few seconds after that he realizes Dean is still hugging _him._ He clears his throat awkwardly, then pats Dean on the back once before letting go.

It’s probably just his imagination, but he could swear Dean is blushing a little.

“So, um… what are you going to make in your new slow cooker?” Castiel says.

Dean’s face breaks into a grin, and Castiel listens to Dean exclaim about pulled pork sandwiches while he waits for his heart to stop beating so hard.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Castiel is annoyed but unsurprised to find Lucifer in his chair the following morning, feet propped up on his desk.

“It’s too early for this,” Castiel grumbles.

“Did _Dean_ like his gift?”

“Yes, Lucifer.”

“What did you get him?”

Castiel pushes Lucifer’s feet off his desk. “A slow cooker.”

“That’s not very romantic.”

“It wasn’t _supposed_ to be romantic, Lucifer. I told you yesterday, Dean is a friend.”

“Sure he is.”

“You realized I’m heterosexual, right?”

Lucifer lets out a loud snort. “I thought the same thing of myself, once… but you know Brady over in marketing? Two year affair. Wild in the sack, too.”

“That is not information I needed,” Castiel says, despairing at the mental images fighting to fill his mind.

Lucifer shrugs and stands, grinning. “Sexuality isn’t always set in stone,” he says, giving Castiel a once over. “Let me know if you want any help sussing yours out.” Lucifer winks and walks away.

“ _Please_ don’t sleep with him,” Gabriel says, startling the hell out of Castiel. Where did he even come from? “You wouldn’t _believe_ how much we had to pay Brady when their little tryst blew up.”

“Gabriel, I wouldn’t let your brother in my _car,_ much less my bed.”

“Thank _God._ That guy’s dick makes too many of his decisions.”

Castiel sighs. “I hate this place.”

Gabriel pats Castiel on the back so hard he drops his car keys. “I think you’re fitting in _great_.”

  
  


*

  
  


It’s overcompensation, he knows, but when he goes on a lunch run for the partners, Castiel asks a woman out on a date. There’s an issue at the deli counter, and he gets to chatting with the woman in line ahead of him while they wait. Ambriel has kind eyes and a friendly smile, and she too is on gopher duty to fetch lunch for her office.

They make plans for dinner and a movie after work, and Castiel feels relaxed and slightly smug when he returns to his office.

“What’s got you so peppy?” Hannah asks once Castiel is done bringing the partners their lunches.

“I have a date,” Castiel says cheerfully.

“Oh!” Hannah says, looking excited. “With Dean?”

Castiel knocks his thankfully empty coffee cup over in surprise. “ _No,_ with a _woman._ How do you even know who Dean is?”

“Inias told me.”

“Who on God’s green Earth told him?”

“He said the partners were betting on how long it will take you two to get together.”

Oh, for crying out loud. “I should have put laxatives in their lunches.”

Hannah laughs, then looks embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s just… that’s exactly what the last assistant did the day she quit.”

“That doesn’t surprise me even slightly.”

  
  


*

  
  


The work day is blissfully coming to a close when Castiel sees the partners headed toward his desk.

“Heavenly Father,” Castiel pleads, gazing upward, “give me strength. I’m _this_ close to quitting,” he says to the partners.

“No you’re not,” Gabriel insists, “this job is great!”

“In the interview, you failed to mention that the four of you would be betting on whether or not I’m gay.”

“No one is betting that you’re gay, Castiel,” Raphael says.

“I mean, technically we’re betting if and when you’ll pork your landlord… you could be gay, or bi, or pan,” Gabriel says.

Michael looks confused. “Pan?”

Gabriel pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll tell you when you’re older, Mikey.”

“I’m leaving,” Castiel says.

“At least tell us who you’re going out with tonight!” Gabriel shouts after him.

  
  


*

  
  


The date with Ambriel is… nice. Castiel didn’t realize that she was only twenty-six when he asked her out, but the age difference is not an insurmountable obstacle… though they are both a little uncomfortable when Castiel tells her he has a daughter just nine years younger than her. It’s still nice, but Castiel’s not sure if there’s anything… _there._ He finds her attractive, maybe feels more of a spark than he did with Meg, but… no butterflies. No giddiness, no nervousness, just pleasant company with a woman Castiel wouldn’t mind kissing if the evening calls for it.

They have things in common, which is nice. They’re both the only children of deceased parents, they’re both assistants to bosses that are a bit of a nightmare, they both prefer Raisinettes at the movie.

Castiel hugs her at the end of the night, and she kisses him on the cheek and thanks him for a lovely time.

Neither offers to set up a second date.

  
  


*

  
  


The next few weeks pass quickly. Claire finally gets to a point where she feels caught up in school, and Castiel isn’t generating enough office gossip to warrant the partners’ interest. He goes on a couple of “friend dates” with Meg, who has entered into a romantic relationship with her dominatrix roommate. Claire has a counselor she sees every Monday, and Castiel just spent a distressing amount of money on a salon trip for her to get her extensions replaced, or adjusted, or tightened, or whatever it is that happens to hair extensions.

Valentine’s Day rather sneaks up on Castiel, until Claire comes home late the night before, squeaking and squealing and screeching incoherently.

“Did you win the lottery?” Castiel asks.

“I think I have a girlfriend sort of!” Claire yells, even though Castiel is right in front of her.

“Oh?”

“Well you know how I have this great big crush on Kaia?”

“Actually no, I didn’t know that.”

“Oh. Well, I have this great big crush on Kaia, and… but I was never going to make a move because she’s a lesbian, and I worried the uh… parts I have would be a deal breaker, you know? Because for some people they are, and honestly I was afraid to find out if she was one of those people... but she's not! _She_ asked me out! For Valentine’s Day!”

Castiel feels his heart soar with Claire’s joy. “That’s wonderful, although I confess I didn’t know that you were… out.”

“I’m not. Well, not really. Kaia and Kevin and Alex and Patience all know, but I haven’t told anyone else. As far as most people know, I’m just the B in LGBT… but yeah I told my friends a couple weeks ago. Totally cool, totally lowkey. And like I said, I thought my body type would be a deal breaker, but _nope_! I’m so fucking excited, Dad!” Claire hugs Castiel, then pulls away abruptly. “Fuck, do I own anything red?”

“Tell you what,” Castiel says, smiling, “let’s go to the mall and get you something to wear tomorrow.”

He resists the urge to cover his ears at the super sonic squeaks of happiness.

  
  


*

  
  


Claire is excited but visibly nervous about Valentine’s Day, and spends so much time on her hair that she misses her bus to school.

“Sorry, Dad! I spent like a _year_ shaving my legs, and then I kept changing my hair, and _ugh,_ I think I’m panicking a little. I feel like people might laugh at me or something.”

“You look beautiful, Claire,” Castiel says. And she does. They found her a lovely dress at the mall last night, an item with short sleeves and a turtleneck. Claire loved the style of the dress, but to her dismay it only came in pink, which she said felt like overkill. She’s paired it with black work boots and white socks, and the black faux-leather jacket she picked out at the secondhand store months ago. Castiel thinks the ensemble is very _Claire,_ and he makes her stand still so he can take a photo.

There’s a fleeting moment of Castiel wishing Amelia could see this, but it passes quickly and nearly painlessly.

Dropping Claire off at school makes Castiel a little late for work, and he’s very shocked to see a gift waiting for him on his desk. It’s a small, tan teddy bear with a red heart sewn between its paws, sitting atop a heart shaped box of chocolate. He would think this gift was meant for someone else, if not for the little white card leaning against the bear that reads “ _For Castiel, from your secret Valentine_ ” in fancy calligraphy. Castiel lifts the bear, smiling when he sees the little white angel wings on the bear’s back.

“Is this some sort of… office gift?” Castiel says to Hannah, who’s looking at his bear with a smile.

“No… I believe the many, many, _many_ boxes of doughnuts in the breakroom are the office gift. A secret Valentine,” Hannah says after snatching the card out of Castiel’s hand, “how exciting!”

“Do you think you could find out who delivered it?”

Hannah pouts. “Won’t that ruin the mystery? Nevermind, I want to know too. I’ll see if anyone saw.”

  
  


*

  
  


There’s a second note, this one inside the box of chocolates.

“ _I don’t want anything in return. You make me happy, Castiel, just by being you.”_

 


	13. Chapter 13

At lunch, Hannah plops down at Castiel’s table in the breakroom, looking annoyed.

Castiel pauses, setting down his second doughnut. “Are you alright?”

“I managed to waste my _entire_ morning trying to figure out where that bear came from.”

“I apologize, Hannah, I didn’t mean for you to spend that much time on it.”

“It’s my own silly stubborn streak. The longer I went without finding an answer, the more I wanted that answer.”

“And I take it you didn’t find an answer?”

Hannah sighs, taking a heart shaped jelly doughnut from the box at the center of their table. “It was delivered by a delivery man that didn’t sign in when he came in the building, so I have no idea who he works for. I even got Virgil in security to send me a copy of the feed from this morning. Useless. He kept his head down, and the baseball cap and delivery uniform he wore didn’t have logos!” Hannah bites into her doughnut angrily.

“You seem very… vexed.”

“It’s like a heist, only nothing was stolen. No one paid attention to him, no one knows where he works. _Aggravating._ ”

Castiel chuckles. “Hannah, you’ve given more than a good effort. I appreciate it, but maybe it’s just one of the partners messing with me.”

Hannah frowns. “Now hold on… just because I can’t find the delivery guy… that doesn’t mean the gift is a joke being made at your expense.”

“But it _could_ be.”

“I’d like to think they wouldn’t be _that_ horrid,” Hannah says, hanging her head when Castiel looks at her balefully. “Alright, fair. But it could still be a secret admirer. Maybe it’s April, I saw her looking at you with a _glint_ in her eye the other day. You two would make a cute couple!”

“So those rumors about her stabbing her last boyfriend aren’t true then?”

“Oh… well, no that rumor is true.”

“But other than that I’m sure we’d make a lovely couple.”

“If it makes any difference, she was only charged with assault.”

“It really doesn’t.”

  
  


*

  
  


By the end of the day, Castiel has assertions from all four partners that they did not send him a phony Valentine, though now they’re demanding Castiel find out who sent it and tell them. Castiel can only assume they already have another bet going. It must be wonderful to be bored and incredibly wealthy.

The apartment is empty when Castiel returns home. He’s not entirely sure when Claire will be back. He assumes her “don’t wait up” was facetious, as it’s a school night, but he doesn’t expect her back any time soon. He wonders if he should have made plans for the evening.

Within ten minutes Castiel is lying on his back on the couch, teddy bear and opened box of chocolates resting on his stomach. He really shouldn’t be eating chocolate before dinner, but what the hell, he’s an adult. He’s eight pieces into the box of twenty when there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!” he shouts, feeling too slothful to bother standing.

Dean walks in, immediately smirking at the sight of him. “Really, Cas? Chocolate for dinner?”

“Would you like one?”

“Twist my arm,” Dean says, coming to the couch. He plucks Castiel’s bear off his stomach, regarding it with a smile. “V-Day gift?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Dean sets the bear back on Castiel’s stomach and takes one of the chocolates. Damn, that was the last raspberry creme.

“I’m not entirely convinced it wasn’t one of my bosses playing a joke.”

Dean’s smile vanishes. “Would they do that?”

Castiel moves his feet so Dean can sit. “They get their kicks in strange ways.”

“Maybe someone just likes you and wanted to give you a gift. Don’t be so negative, man.”

“I’m not negative, I’m cautious. Really it’s this person’s fault for not signing their name.”

“Maybe they’re shy. Or have no name. Or... I don't know, this isn't really my wheelhouse.”

“Maybe…” Castiel picks up the bear, smiling. “I can’t remember the last time someone gave me a Valentine’s Day gift.”

“Weren’t you _married_?”

“Valentine’s Day was usually me getting _her_ a gift. Anniversaries, that was the more mutual exchange. I think my marriage leaned too heavily on traditional gender roles, sometimes. Silly, looking back.” Castiel sighs. “Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?”

Dean nods, somber.

“Sometimes I’m not sure that she and I really connected. I loved Amelia, of course, but I…. I’m not sure I would have married her if my mother hadn’t died. My mother _adored_ Amelia. Of course if I had to choose all over again I would do things the same, if only for Claire, but… at the time my actions were driven by grief. We were so _young_ when we married.”

Castiel lets out a wet sniffle, surprised when he realizes he’s crying.

“That got a bit bleak, I apologize. Now that we’re divorced it’s easy to look back at all the things wrong with our life together, but honestly I _was_ genuinely happy with our marriage until… until things changed.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Dean says. “I know the feeling. There’s stuff I did when I was younger that… they were more about pleasing my dad than what I really wanted.” He starts to get that lost, faraway look he gets sometimes, and Castiel nudges him with his foot.

“Hey. Come back, okay?”

Dean’s eyes clear, and he smiles at Castiel with so much fondness that Castiel feels his heart skip a beat. “Thanks, Cas.” He stands and moves the bear and chocolates to the coffee table “Alright, come on,” he says, pulling Castiel to his feet. “Get your shoes on.”

“Why?”

“We’re going out to dinner.”

“We are?”

“Unless you need to spend some time alone with your bear friend.”

“Ezekiel.”

“What?”

“The bear’s name is Ezekiel.”

“Of course it is.”

Castiel gets his shoes on and follows Dean out of the apartment and over to the elevator. The doors slide open with a soft ping, and Castiel’s jaw drops.

Sam is in the elevator flanked by two beautiful women. One is kissing Sam, the other is nibbling at his neck… and has a hand down his pants.

“This ain’t your damn floor,” Dean barks, and all three of them jerk away from each other in surprise.

“Oh! Hey, Dean!” Sam says loudly, hastily zipping up his jeans. “We were just…”

“You were just about to fuck in my elevator.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean,” the blonde woman on Sam’s left says.

“At _most_ I was going to suck his dick in your elevator,” the brunette on Sam’s right says.

“Jesus, Ruby!” Sam’s face is bright red.

“You know what,” Dean says, “we’ll take the stairs. Sam,” Dean says with a nod. “Ruby. Other Ruby.”

“ _Dean_ ,” the Rubys say in unison.

Dean grabs Castiel’s hand and pulls him in the direction of the stairwell as the elevator doors close. Castiel has an odd and intense urge to lace their fingers together which he ignores until Dean lets go.

“Guess I have to make an official ‘no sex in the elevator’ rule in the rental agreement, fucking Christ.”

“That was unexpected,” Castiel sputters.

“How hard is it to wait until you’re in the privacy of your own apartment before you start _unzipping_ for fuck’s sake?”

Castiel pats Dean’s back as they start down the stairs. “There, there, Dean.”

“Can’t believe I just saw my baby brother getting a handjob,” Dean grumbles.

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel expects Dean to take them to Harvelle’s, but Dean drives right past it and stops at an upscale looking pizza place a few miles away.

“Hope you’re in the mood for pizza,” he says. “Uh… they have other stuff if you’re not.”

“Pizza sounds wonderful. Will it be in the shape of a heart?” Castiel says, giving Dean a playful nudge.

“Fuck no, that’s just a restaurant’s way of giving you less pizza for _more_ money.”

Castiel chuckles. “Of course.”

The place isn’t too crowded, and Dean and Castiel opt to slide into opposite sides of a booth and spend a few minutes bickering over whether to get two small personal pizzas or one large pizza, then over which toppings to get when they decide on a single pizza.

“I’m not saying barbecue pizza isn’t _good_ ,” Castiel says, “I’m just saying there are other toppings I’d rather have.”

“You _always_ get sausage and mushrooms.”

“Not true, Claire makes me add pepperoni and olives.”

“Still, you’re set in your ways.”

“If I might be bold a minute,” their server says, seeming to appear from nowhere, “perhaps you two should compromise and try something new together?”

“I’m listening,” Dean says. Castiel’s never seen anyone look so serious about pizza, including Claire.

“We have a pizza with kielbasa, sweet potato, and red onion that’s pretty darn tasty,” their server says.

Dean looks horrified, but he tilts his head toward Castiel. “What do you think?”

“I’m amenable,” Castiel says, smiling when Dean scowls.

“Okay, bring us your weird sweet potato pizza,” Dean says, sulking slightly. “There’s _cheese_ on it, right?”

The server nods enthusiastically, writing down something on her notepad. “You’ll like it, I’m sure of it!”

“I’d better,” Dean grumbles.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “We can go back to arguing about toppings, if you like.”

The server laughs. “Gosh you two are just like me and _my_ boyfriend when we go out to eat!” she says before heading toward the kitchen.

Castiel’s jaw drops a little, face suddenly feeling flushed. “We’re not—” Castiel sighs and looks at Dean, expecting him to mirror his own embarrassment.

Instead, Dean’s just looking at the server’s retreating form. “She forgot to take our drink orders, man.”

  
  


*

  
  


Despite the embarrassing start, Castiel’s dinner with Dean is very enjoyable. It turns out the strange combination of flavors is indeed tasty on a pizza, and Dean is in good spirits. This is one of those times where it’s difficult to reconcile this man with the terrifyingly unfriendly landlord Castiel met last month. If not for Claire insisting that they take the apartment, Castiel would have chosen some other place and never gotten to know the funny, brash, caring man Dean truly is.

It’s upsetting to imagine.

At the end of the meal Dean pays, claiming he owes Castiel for eating the last raspberry creme out of that box of chocolates. A bit silly, but Castiel can go along with it.

“I _suppose_ this makes us even,” Castiel says, heaving a great sigh as Dean puts his card with their check.

Sometimes, when Castiel spends time with Dean outside the building and they return to their adjacent apartments, Castiel has this odd feeling. This anticipation, like something is coming. Castiel doesn’t know what exactly, just something. Whatever the something is, it never comes. They always pat each other on the shoulder and say their goodbyes, or maybe Castiel follows Dean into his apartment so they can watch a movie.

That feeling is there once again tonight, as Castiel exits the elevator and walks with Dean down the hall of the fourth floor. They stop when they reach the end of the hall and turn to face each other. Castiel can hear the sound of Claire laughing and talking with someone.

“Sounds like Claire’s home,” Dean says. He sounds a bit awkward, unless Castiel is projecting.

“I hope she hasn’t stolen the rest of my chocolates,” Castiel says.

Dean nods. “Kids love chocolate.”

“Yes, yes they do.”

Dean rolls his shoulders and clears his throat, and suddenly Castiel can finally put some context to this feeling. It’s akin to… end of the date tension, when one wonders if a goodnight kiss is on the menu. Except they’re not on a date, and neither of them is considering a kiss. Involuntarily, Castiel finds his eyes drawn to Dean’s lips for a fraction of a second. When he looks back at Dean’s eyes, they’re rather surprised looking.

“I, uh… I had a nice time tonight. Never really been to a gourmet pizza place before.”

“Me too, Cas.”

“I’ll um… goodnight.” Castiel pats Dean on the shoulder and turns to go into his apartment, too terrified to see whatever expression might be on Dean’s face.

Claire is on the couch when Castiel comes inside, cell phone in one hand, chocolate in the other. She grimaces, moving to set the chocolate back down.

“By all means,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes.

Claire shrugs and pops the chocolate in her mouth. “Who gave you these?”

“I don’t actually know, they did it anonymously.”

“Really? That’s kind of romantic.”

“It’s harder to appreciate a gift when I have no one to direct my appreciation towards, and I keep worrying Lucifer Charleson is playing some cruel joke. How was your date?”

Clare sighs, eyes fluttering closed. “Best date of my life. Which… okay isn’t saying a whole lot, but it was awesome. Can I be TMI with you?”

Castiel has no idea what that means, but he nods.

“Okay, so I wasn’t wearing anything… binding under my dress, so for the first twenty minutes I was terrified, _terrified_ that I was going to get an erection and there’d be a pink tent and it would be super humiliating.”

Castiel doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. “O-oh…”

“I've read from some people that when I’m able... and _ready_ to start hormone therapy there's a chance it’ll be less of an issue, but… anyway, so I _blurted_ this out to Kaia in the middle of dinner, because I was scared and nervous… and she was so funny, and reassuring, and just… Dad, I can’t believe I get to go out with her.”

Castiel smiles, feeling almost misty-eyed. About his daughter talking about her genitalia with her date. What a strange day. “I’m so happy for you, Claire-bear.”

Claire takes another chocolate. Damn, there’s only four left now. “You know what? I’m happy for me too.”

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel comes to Claire’s door a bit later, feeling nervous and embarrassed. But… there’s something on his mind and there aren’t a lot of people he can talk to about it. There’s a faint light under the door, so Castiel knocks.

“Come in!”

Claire is in her pajamas, lying on her side and smiling at whatever she’s seeing on her phone. The lamp by her bed is lit; a tacky purple thing Claire bought at her school’s rummage sale last week.

“Hey, Dad,” she says, not looking away from her screen.

“Hey… I uh… I was wondering something,” Castiel says, feeling young and small and embarrassed.

“Mhm?” Claire doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

“How did you know you were bisexual?” Castiel barely manages to get the words out.

“Oh, you know, just kinda knew,” Claire says absently, grinning at her phone and tapping something on the screen.

Castiel deflates slightly. She’s obviously busy, and this was silly anyway. “Okay, thank you. Sweet dreams, Claire.”

“Night, Dad!”

Castiel sulks his way back to his own room and changes into track pants and a t-shirt so he can sleep. He’s just crawling into bed when he hears “WAIT, WHAT?!” from Claire’s room, then a thud, then another thud, then a bunch of cursing, the sound of her door opening, footsteps, and then Claire is bursting into his room and turning his light on.

“ _What_ did you just ask me?”

Castiel feels oddly trapped. “I, uh… I asked how you knew you were bisexual.”

“That’s what I _thought_. Jesus, Dad! Do you think you might be bi?”

“I don’t _know,_ ” Castiel whines, “that’s why I tried to ask you!”

“Sorry! I didn’t… Kaia wrote a gross limerick, and I wasn’t paying attention… but now I am. What happened?”

“Nothing, I just… I know that I find women attractive.”

“Okay?”

“But I have… I have these _feelings…_ ”

“About men?”

“About _Dean_.”

Castiel’s never seen Claire’s eyes so wide.

“ _Dean_ -Dean? Across the hall Dean? Bearded bundle of plaid? _That_ Dean?”

“ _Yes,_ that Dean.”

“Holy shit, Dad.”

“I know, I…” Castiel buries his face in his hands. “I don’t know what to do, I’ve never been attracted to a man before.”

“Never?”

“Never. Well… I suppose there was Abner back in middle school… I thought I had… but then he moved… and it never really happened again, and… and eventually I met your mother…”

“Hey.” Claire is sitting next to him, Castiel has no idea when that happened. “It’s okay, Dad. It’s me, a kindly bisexual trans girl from Illinois. You don’t have to be scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“ _Claire_.”

“I’m just saying… this ain’t our churchy corner of Pontiac, and I’m not one of those jackwagons you used to know. This is genuinely a safe space,” Claire says emphatically.

“I know…”

“I know you ‘know’,” Claire says, making air quotes, “but I need you to _know._ ”

Castiel’s a bit confused, but he presses on. “I really don’t know how this even happened. These feelings snuck up on me, and I ignored them at first because I didn’t really _recognize_ them… God in Heaven am I really babbling to my _daughter_ that I have a crush on a boy?”

“Don’t look at it like that. You and me are there for each other. Plus it’s not like I’m _ten,_ I’m in high school and _technically_ out of the two of us, I’m the expert bisexual.”

“How can someone be an exp—”

“I don’t make the rules.”

“Fine, Ms. Expert, what do I do now?”

“You don’t _have_ to do anything. This is all new for you, you don’t have to act on a damn thing until you want to… and you might never want to. I’ve been attracted to guys plenty of times, but I can’t remember the last time I actually wanted to _date_ one.”

“That is a good point. I don't know if Dean even dates men. I guess I had it in my head that this is something that needed to be confronted immediately,” Castiel says, feeling a bit ridiculous.

“It really doesn’t. Marinate on it. If your feelings… you know… _continue_ or whatever… then you can decide if you want to bring them to Dean’s attention.”

“I think that’s a good plan. Thank you, Claire. Truly.”

Claire grins. “If you need more help, the Rainbow Alliance has brochures…”

“Goodnight, Claire.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

Over the next few weeks, Castiel marinates.

He acknowledges his feelings to himself, but tries not to dwell on them. It’s not all that easy. Castiel’s never had a crush on a close friend before, certainly not one so moody. There are moments when Castiel wants to hold Dean’s hand, or curl up with him on the couch, or see what it feels like to kiss someone with a beard.

There’s a morning when Castiel takes himself in hand in the shower, stroking himself to completion, thinking of Dean’s hands on him when he comes. He spends that day filled with shame; though whether it’s leftover religious stigma or guilt for fantasizing about a friend, Castiel isn't certain.

It’s fine, though. Life is still good, Castiel is still very glad to be in Jasperville. Claire is doing wonderfully in school, despite the fact that she seems to spend all of her free time with her friends or on the phone with Kaia. Castiel’s branching out a little himself, too. He goes jogging with Meg some mornings, and last week he went to a movie with Sam, the Rubys, and Sam’s co-worker Jo. He had a great time, despite being at least five years older than everyone else. He went to a St. Patrick’s Day party with people from work and enjoyed himself… even got a great video of Gabriel doing body shots off the usually straight-laced Naomi. He went on another date, this time with Meg’s friend Lilith. It was terrible, because evidently Meg has terrifying friends, but at least Castiel gave it a shot. Plus Meg was eventually able to retrieve the wallet and keys Lilith stole from him, so all’s well that ends well, in Castiel’s opinion.

Today is Saturday, and it’s nearing the end of March. Claire’s been out since early this morning, making the most of her Spring Break, so Castiel is on his own for the day.

As often happens when Castiel is on his own, his thoughts have turned to Dean. Castiel’s attempts to branch out socially have less to do with him wanting to expand his social circle and more to do with Castiel being afraid that if he loses Dean, he’ll have no other friends.

Not that Castiel’s expecting to lose Dean, but… sometimes a friendship can falter when one friend confesses a romantic interest in the other friend.

Not that Castiel’s planning to confess anything.

He’s just… thinking ahead. And maybe he’s trying to spend less time with Dean, because maybe that will cause his romantic interest to decline.

It’s practical.

Castiel is berating himself over this when there’s a knock at the door. He hasn’t been up that long, though he knows it’s nearing noon. It feels good to be so slothful.

“Hey…” Dean says as the door opens, jaw slowly dropping.

It’s at that moment Castiel realizes that he’s answered the door in a pair of boxer briefs.

“M-my apologies,” Castiel sputters, “I haven’t been awake all that long.”

“Wow, uh… I saw Claire leave hours ago, I figured you’d be… up.” Dean’s cheeks are turning red.

Castiel steps back to let Dean inside. “She, ah… she’s having a beach day with her friends… long drive to the coast. I slept in, uh… in their honor.”

“You’re a true hero, Cas. Didn’t know they made boxer briefs that long,” Dean says, gesturing at the rather long orange pair Castiel is wearing.

“My thighs are too thick for the regular length, it makes the edges roll up unpleasantly,” Castiel says, shrugging.

Dean makes an odd choking sound.

“Uh… I should fetch my robe,” Castiel says, scurrying off to his room.

Dean looks slightly more composed when Castiel comes back wrapped in the soft, blue robe he keeps hanging on the back of his bedroom door. Castiel hopes they can pretend the last few minutes didn’t happen.

“So, uh… what brings you over?”

“Uh… not much. Hadn’t seen you in a few days.” Dean looks timid, unsure. “Haven’t seen much of you in a while, really.”

Castiel feels a tense, uncomfortable lump form in his throat. He’s been trying so hard to get a bit of distance, he forgot to consider how it might affect _Dean_. Dean, who was so afraid his personality was scaring Castiel off when they started to become friends. What an unbelievably foolish and selfish oversight.

“As it happens my day is _wide_ open,” Castiel says with a smile. “What did you have in mind?”

Dean responds with a smile of his own, though it’s much smaller and more fearful. God in Heaven, Castiel wants to kiss that dejected look off his face. “Nothing too exciting, hoped maybe you’d be in the mood for burgers… and I feel like watching Die Hard.”

“That sounds like a perfect way to spend a Saturday. Let me shower and dress, and I’ll head right over.”

Dean’s smile grows into something real. It’s beautiful as it always is. “I’ll go fire up the stove.”

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel spends most of his brief shower berating himself. Foolish. Foolish, foolish, foolish. It’s one thing to need distance. It’s another to go for that distance and not tell the other person _why_. Castiel knows Dean can be self deprecating some days, downright self loathing other days. Imagining what Dean might have been telling himself in the past few weeks… with Castiel slowly spending less time with him and more time with others… Castiel’s heart aches so badly he could cry.

It’s alright, though. Castiel sees his mistake. He’ll do a better job of making sure Dean knows he still matters.

  
  


*

  
  


By the time Castiel steps into Dean’s apartment, it’s filled with a delicious array of smells. Sugar is on the couch, napping and looking pretty adorable. Dean is in the kitchen, and he must not have heard Castiel come in, because he’s singing.

Castiel had no idea Dean could sing. He can, though, voice smoother than silk as it curls around the words to Simple Man. Castiel freezes, not wanting to make a sound. He feels guilty knowing he’s likely not meant to hear it, but not guilty enough to alert Dean to his presence.

There’s no music backing Dean, but it doesn’t matter. He sounds _wonderful,_ even when he forgets words. He comes out just as he’s singing the last few lines, and his eyes go wide. If he wasn’t blushing back when Castiel answered the door in his underwear, he’s _certainly_ blushing now.

“Uh… hey.”

“I didn’t know you were a singer.”

“Uh… yeah, I uh… I like singing. Used to sing in high school. Glee club.”

Castiel is gawking, he knows. “ _You_ were in glee club?”

“I can be gleeful, shut up. Anyway I didn’t do it for too long, lot of my focus went to drawing and painting.”

“You’re very talented, I’m envious.”

“Yeah? Well… everyone’s got talents, what’re yours?”

“Certainly not singing or painting. I do enjoy knitting, but I wouldn’t say I have a talent for it.”

Dean smirks. “Maybe everyone _doesn’t_ have a talent, then.”

“ _Dick_.”

“Oooh, you said a bad word!”

“Wait, I do have a talent,” Castiel says. He sticks his tongue out, curling it into a clover shape.

“Holy shit.”

“I can’t be the first person you’ve seen do that.”

“I’ve seen _this,_ ” Dean says, curling his tongue into a simple curve, “not whatever witchcraft you just did. What else can you do?”

“I’m flexible enough to put my ankles behind my ears. Not very comfortable… though maybe these are more tricks than talents? I could show you.”

“ _No_ ,” Dean says, voice emphatic and hoarse. “I mean… uh… lunch is gonna be ready real soon.” He scrubs a hand over his face, muttering “Fucking Christ” as he turns toward the kitchen.

Castiel’s not totally sure what went wrong there.

  
  


*

  
  


They’re halfway through the second Die Hard movie when someone knocks at Dean’s door.

“Damn it,” Dean says, pausing the DVD. “Right when they’re about to— wait, have you seen this movie before?”

“No, only the first one.”

“Well then I’ll just shut my mouth before I spoil it.” Dean pads over to the door as the person in the hall knocks again. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’.”

Dean yanks open the door, and Castiel hears him make a noise of surprise. Castiel turns to look at the door. It’s someone he doesn’t recognize. Blue eyes, a bit older than Castiel, built like a bear. He’s wearing what looks a bit like an old fisherman’s cap, a black peacoat, and a deep frown.

“Dean,” the man says by way of greeting.

“What… what the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

“Not a very kindly way to greet someone, chief.” The man has an accent, something southern. Louisiana, maybe… Castiel’s not sure.

“You can call it rude, but if you’re here my day’s probably about to turn to shit.”

“He’s gone, Dean.”

Dean's entire body goes rigid. “The fuck do you mean he’s _gone,_ Benny?”

“Christ, not gone like escaped— he’s _dead,_ brother.”

Dean’s head whips around to face Castiel. “ _Out,_ Cas.”

Castiel jumps to his feet, shocked into action by Dean’s demeanor. He feels small, hurt, and frightened as he rushes out the door, squeezing past Dean and the newcomer, Benny.

“Ah fuck,” Dean says, grabbing Castiel’s arm. Castiel looks at him warily. “I’m sorry, Cas, that wasn’t cool.”

“It’s fine, Dean, really,” Castiel lies.

“No, it’s not. I gotta talk to Benny here, but… but that’s no excuse, alright? I’m sorry,” he says with so much feeling that Castiel can’t help but feel soothed.

He gives Dean what is hopefully a reassuring smile. “We’re okay.”

Dean lets go of his arm and nods. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Maybe tomorrow? Pizza? More Die Hard?”

“Are you making the pizza?”

Dean smiles. “Guess I gotta.”

“No pineapple,” Castiel says sternly.

“Have a little faith, Cas.”

Castiel nods before going into his apartment and gently closing the door. He leans his forehead against the cool wood, unsure of how to feel. Even for Dean, that was intense.

“The hell was _that_ ,” Castiel hears Benny say through the door.

“That was none of your fuckin’ business, that’s what that was.”

“He’s pretty.”

“Don’t fucking start.”

“Would you rather I _called,_ Dean?”

“Just get the fuck in here you big, dumb hick.”

Castiel hears a laugh. “Yeah, I missed you too.”

The door closes, and then Castiel can’t hear anything else. He sighs, drifting toward his bedroom. He has so, so many questions.

He spends the rest of the day hoping Dean will come back and tell him everything, but that of course doesn’t happen.

  
  


*

  
  


“Dad.”

“ _Dad._ ”

“Dad, wake up!”

Castiel wakes to Claire shaking him, her face panicked in the glow of the bedside lamp.

“Claire? Is everything okay? When did you get back? What—”

“ _Listen_.”

Castiel listens, and for a moment he hears nothing, then he hears yelling. Angry, pained yelling.

It sounds like Dean.

“Jesus. Wait here, Claire,” Castiel says, grabbing his phone and rushing out of the room.

He runs for the front door, heart pounding, phone clutched in one hand. The first thing he notices when he opens the door is Chuck, who has the apartment next to Dean’s. Castiel doesn’t see Chuck all that often, he’s usually locked in his apartment writing and drinking. He looks at Castiel, face weary, tired. Castiel can smell the peach schnapps permeating Chuck’s ratty bathrobe from here. Chuck looks at the phone in Castiel’s hand and shakes his head.

“It’s alright, Castiel,” Chuck says, “I called Sam.”

“But Chuck—”

“It’s fine.”

The stairwell door at the other end of the hall bangs open and Sam comes running toward them, barefoot and wearing a pair of Iron Man sleep pants with a bright pink t-shirt that’s at _least_ three sizes too small. 

“I got it!” he says, waving his keys, “I’m on it!”

He gets Dean’s door unlocked and runs inside as Dean screams yet again. Castiel’s heart lurches at the sound of Dean in so much pain. The door is wide open, and the apartment fills with light as Sam goes through the living room.

Castiel hears Sam shouting. “Dean. _Dean_! Ow, Dean would you— ow! Dean, _wake up_!” There’s a loud _crack,_ like someone just got slapped, and then Castiel hears Dean groaning.

“Sammy?”

Chuck’s shoulders sag in relief and he disappears back into his apartment. Castiel pulls his door closed behind him and sinks to the floor, leaning against it for support as he stares at Dean’s open door. His heart is still hammering away as he listens to Sam and Dean.

“What the fuck are you _wearing_ ,” Dean says, as though he wasn’t just screaming in utter agony.

“ _Really,_ Dean?”

“How the fuck did you even get in that thing… ugh, why does my face— did you fucking _slap_ me?”

“You weren’t waking up.”

“You know cold water to the face works just fine.”

“Yeah, well you hit me first.”

“ _That’s_ fair.”

“You’re _welcome,_ Dean. What the hell happened? It’s been _months_ since you last—”

“Benny was here.”

There’s silence, then Sam says “Oh. Okay…”

“Alastair’s dead.”

“Oh, _Jesus._ ”

“Yeah, he— nope, I can’t talk about this right now.”

“Fine, but you better call your shrink in the morning.”

“Do I have to?”

“Dean, you’re a grown-ass adult that can make his own decisions… but yeah, you _have_ to.”

Castiel smiles and closes his eyes. He should really get up and stop listening, but hearing Dean talking calmly with his brother is a soothing balm to Castiel’s nerves. He relaxes, feeling his heart rate return to normal, letting the sound of their loving and annoyed brotherly banter wash over him. Then he hears his name.

“Check on Cas for what?”

“He was in the hall, he looked terrified.”

“Oh, fuck, that’s just fucking… no, _sit,_ I’ll go do it.”

“Dean, I can—”

“ _Sam._ ”

Castiel starts scrambling to his feet, embarrassed to have been listening this whole time, especially with Dean about to catch him. He’s just turning his door knob when he hears Dean behind him.

“Not fast enough, buddy.”

Castiel turns. “Dean.” There’s a bright red spot on Dean’s cheek where Sam slapped him.

“Eavesdropping, Cas?”

“Sam left the door open!” Castiel says defensively. He sighs. “I wanted to know that you were okay, Dean. You sounded… you sounded…” There are tears gathering in Castiel’s eyes, he wipes at them angrily.

“I’m okay, Cas. Sometimes I… the unconscious mind can do some fucked shit.”

Something dawns on Castiel. “Noise disturbances… this is what you meant when I moved in?”

Dean looks away then, expression a bit ashamed. “It doesn’t happen that often anymore, and I’ll knock a few bucks off the rent for the month… kinda the standard procedure.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Yeah, well it’s protocol. I’m sorry I scared you, Cas… I can’t control it.”

“I don’t blame you for your nightmares anymore than I blame myself for the recurring dream I have where it’s the last day of class and I’ve neglected to study for an exam worth eighty percent of my grade.”

Dean smiles. “I have that one sometimes. Show up for the first day of class, big test, and I’m wearing nothing but my ex-girlfriend’s pink satin panties.”

Wonderful, now Castiel is thinking about Dean in pink panties. He clears his throat. “Ah… my p-point is… you don’t have to feel sorry. Like you said, you can’t control dreams. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I’m good. I’ve gotten better about bouncing back, really.” Dean looks down at his feet, then back at Castiel. “We still on for tomorrow? Or, uh… today, I guess? Pizza? More John McClane?”

“Of course. And Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

There’s so much Castiel wants to say, wants to ask. Who is Benny? Why did a visit from him trigger some sort of _night terrors_? Who on earth is Alastair? God, Castiel wishes he could have Dean sleep in his bed, so he can watch over him, wake him if there’s another nightmare. But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he smiles.

“Be sure to find out how in the world Sam managed to get into that t-shirt without tearing it, I’m dying to know.”

Dean grins and slaps Castiel on the shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  
  


 


	15. Chapter 15

Castiel’s just finished moaning his way through his third slice of Dean’s magnificent homemade pepperoni and sausage pizza when Dean grabs his remote and pauses Die Hard With a Vengeance.

“Can I tell you some stuff?”

That could mean anything, but Castiel knows his answer. “Of course, Dean.”

“I just… I feel like I oughta explain what happened last night.”

“Dean, you don’t owe—”

“I know. But… you’re important to me, Cas,” Dean says, and Castiel’s heart does a somersault in his chest. “I feel like I’m hiding from you, and I don’t want to.”

“In that case, I’m listening.”

“Okay, so… you probably know by now that my mom is dead.” It’s never come up specifically, but Castiel had pieced that together over the past few months. “She died when I was four… it was a house fire. I don’t remember it, really… I mean I was _four._ I remember running out of the house with Sam in my arms, I remember _fear,_ but that’s kinda it. My dad took it real hard of course, did a lot of drinking… he ended up in jail, and me and Sammy got shipped here from Kansas to live with my mom’s parents. It took a few years, but my dad did eventually get his shit together and moved out here too. He never had custody, but he lived pretty close. Sam and I got to see him all the time.”

Dean’s fidgety, uncomfortable, but Castiel’s not sure how to reassure him.

“He was hard to please, growing up. I never knew if it was because of Mom, or if he was just… like that. He didn’t give out approval easily. It made Sam not like him very much, but it made me desperate for that damn approval.” Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m going somewhere with this, I just… I’m trying to frame it, I guess.”

“It’s okay, Dean. Keep talking.”

“Okay. Well, I used to try doing stuff I knew he wanted, dating, sports, that kind of shit. But it was never good enough, you know? And when I was in high school, I finally started to do what made _me_ happy… art stuff. By the time I was nineteen, I was just another shaggy haired bisexual art student in San Francisco, and it was _awesome._ I didn’t have his approval, and I didn’t fucking care.”

Did Dean just say bisexual? Dean is bisexual? _Focus, Castiel_.

“There was this guy, Rufus Turner… my dad’s old CO in the marines…”

“CO?”

“Commanding Officer. He died, and my dad was real torn up about it, so I came down to visit him. He was… fuck, he was mean about it. Ranting about what a good man Rufus was, how he’d made something of himself serving his country, not wasting his time learning to paint pictures for a living… some real vicious shit. He’d had a few beers, but he wasn’t drunk by any means. He damn well meant what he said.”

“How awful,” Castiel says, wanting to reach out and comfort a version of Dean that likely no longer exists.

“I thought I’d gotten over that need for him to think something of me, I really thought I had, but I was so fucking wrong. After that, I dropped out of school, I enlisted in the army.” Dean’s face is in his hands. “Fucking dumb, man. Not enlisting… but doing it for _that_ reason… dumb… and I took to the army real well, Cas. They treat you like dirt in basic, but when you’re good, when you _excel,_ well it’s a great way for a guy with daddy issues to get the approval he so desperately needs. And I was good. I excelled. Rifle, hand to hand, jackknife, pistol, you put in my hand, I can kill someone with it. And I did. Thirty-nine confirmed kills for me personally, more when you factor in unit stuff...”

Castiel’s eyes widen. He’s known people that were in the military, of course, but as far as he knows, none of them took a life. Dean has taken _many_ lives. He’s eyeing Castiel warily, as though Castiel might lash out at him, or run away. When Castiel does neither, Dean keeps talking.

“If you asked me at the time if they were all bad, if they all deserved to die, I’d have said yes. They were shooting at us, they were dangerous… but looking back, I gotta wonder how many really did have it coming.”

Dean gets that faraway look as he often does, a look Castiel finally understands. Castiel nudges him with his foot.

“The guy from yesterday... that's Benny. He was in my unit. Out there, we were brothers. Out there, there was no one I trusted more. He was good too, just like me. Calm in a storm, never lost his head, smiled at the worst of times… always fuckin’ whistling, always had my back. Until the day he didn’t.” Dean laughs bitterly. “We got an order from our CO… and it just didn’t smell right. Building full of insurgents, gotta clear em’ out. No prisoners.”

“W-were they civilians?” Castiel can’t help but ask.

“What? No… no, that wasn’t the problem. They had…” Dean frowns. “Okay there’s shit here I can’t say. They had intel and gear that they weren’t supposed to have, and my CO was in on it. We weren’t there to neutralize a threat, we were there to clean up his mess. When I realized _that,_ I fucking took what I could of the shit he was after, and I hid it. Benny was supposed to help me… help me get word to the right people that Alastair was dirty, that he was a damn traitor. But…”

“Benny was bad too?”

“It’s not always like that, Cas… good or bad, right or wrong. Benny was… a good soldier. He thought _I_ was the shady one… he thought reporting me was…” Dean’s face is in his hands again. “He thought reporting me was the right move. Even when Alastair had me strung up in the basement of a shot up old textile factory.”

“ _Strung up_?”

Dean shrugs. “I had something Alastair wanted, and I wasn’t just gonna fork it over.”

“Y-you mean.”

“Yeah. I mean.”

Castiel wants to throw up. Or cry. Or put his hands over his ears. “ _Dean_.”

“Yeah. Two days, of… two days. It wasn’t Benny, just Alastair. Benny was a sentry. When Alastair was gone Benny was sympathetic, you know? But he believed Alastair, he believed _I’d_ flipped. And… I don’t know how to put this. Sometimes a group gets a bit removed from society, even from the rules and rigid structure of the army. They start getting their own ideas of law, justice. So while _here_ stringing up one of your own men then trying to cut and burn the truth out of him… fuckin' unthinkable… out there, away from home, away from everything, even the rest of our unit… it wasn’t so unthinkable. Alastair had other ideas of justice… or what he _said_ was justice. Obviously he didn’t give a damn shit about justice, he cared about covering his ass and getting on with the business of being a traitor.”

“How did you get out?”

“Well… I’d like to tell you Benny came to his fucking senses on his own, but the truth is he heard Alastair trying to bribe me. Heard enough to realize I wasn’t the bad guy. So… he got me out, we got Alastair subdued, arrested, shipped off to Gitmo-Lite, and… apparently now he’s dead. Died in his sleep… in his fucking _sleep_.”

There’s a cracking sound, and Castiel and Dean both look down at the remote Dean’s just broken in half.

“That piece of shit was supposed to spend another forty years desperately trying to remember what sunlight felt like on his skin, not checking out early.” Sugar jumps into Dean’s lap, and he immediately sags a little as he starts petting her fur. “So… yeah. Sometimes I have nightmares, and sometimes they’re real bad. Can’t say if there’ll be more soon, but there’ll be more eventually. And when it happens, you just gotta call Sam and he’ll come shake me awake or dump a glass of water on me.”

“Or slap you.”

“Shit, that fucking _hurt,_ ” Dean grumbles, tenderly touching the still-red spot on his face. “That shithead hits _hard._ You know, he used to live next door, in the apartment Chuck lives in. To be right there if I needed him. But then one day I heard what it sounds like when he has sex, and that was the end of _that_ arrangement.” Dean sighs. “Look, Cas… a lot of people know I’m a disgruntled vet with a stack of medals, commendations, and PTSD, but… only a few know what Alastair did, okay? You can’t go telling people about that. My dad knows, Sam, my doctor, a couple exes… but as far as people living here… well they think my nightmares are combat related. And some are, but the real bad ones… the ones where I’m screaming, that’s usually Alastair.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to do, what to say to any of this. The torture, the nightmares, the kills… “So this,” he says, pushing up Dean’s t-shirt sleeve until he can see the pile of skulls tattooed there.

“Thirty-nine confirmed kills,” Dean says, voice a little hollow.

Castiel practically throws himself at Dean then, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders and squeezing so hard it makes his own arms ache. Dean doesn’t move for a long moment, long enough that Castiel is considering letting go, then he lets out a soft sound, maybe a sob. He hugs Castiel back, just as tight.

They stay that way for a very, very long time.

  
  


*

  
  


“You look like shit.”

Castiel sighs, glaring at Gabriel over his cup of coffee. “Go fuck yourself, Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s eyes enlarge with delight. “I didn’t know you knew any _swear words,_ Cassie!”

“Well I do,” Castiel groans.

“Late night, big guy?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Up having sexy fun?”

“Not even remotely.”

No, Castiel was most certainly not having sexy fun. He was sitting in the hallway between his and Dean’s apartments until at least three in the morning, listening to make sure Dean wasn’t screaming. Then he passed out and woke slumped against the wall with drool running down his face and Claire asking him why the hell he was sleeping in the hallway. Castiel is tired, sore, and in absolutely no mood for Gabriel’s teasing.

“Your capacity for new levels of bitchiness never ceases to amaze me, kiddo.”

“One more word, and the video of you doing _body shots_ off Naomi gets posted to the company website.”

“Two months here and already blackmailing your boss? God _damn_ this place is corrupt.”

“ _Gabriel._ ”

“Fine, fine. But e-mail me that video, okay? Donna thinks I made it up, she’s going to shit her pants when she sees Naomi writhing around to fucking Wrecking Ball.”

Castiel groans again and digs his phone out of his pocket.

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel keeps sleeping outside Dean’s door for the rest of the week, with no one but Claire the wiser. On Saturday, though, Claire has no reason to wake early, so she’s not there to wake Castiel up, and when Castiel _does_ wake he’s on Dean’s couch. It smells incredible in the apartment, but Castiel’s too busy feeling embarrassed to really appreciate the scent of bacon and something made with eggs.

Sugar is resting on the back of the couch, and when she sees Castiel looking at her she yawns, stretches, then jumps right onto Castiel’s crotch. He yelps in pain, lifting Sugar up and dropping her on the floor. Dean comes out of the kitchen, grinning when he sees Castiel.

“Morning, sunshine! You okay?”

“Your cat just jumped on my penis.”

Dean covers his mouth with his fist. Castiel can’t tell if he’s horrified or if he’s about to laugh.

“I suppose I should be grateful her claws weren’t out,” Castiel adds.

“Damn, man. Damn. So,” he says, coming over and leaning against the back of the couch, “this whole camping outside your neighbor’s door thing… that something they just _do_ back in Illinois?”

Castiel can feel his face flush. “If I say yes, can we skip talking about it?”

“Nope!” Dean says cheerfully.

“I just… I wanted to be able to call Sam as soon as possible if you had another nightmare.”

“Cas, I really appreciate that, but… you don’t need to do that, okay? We got a system. Chuck’s awake at night anyway, he calls Sam, Sam comes.”

“What if Sam isn’t home?”

“Then Chuck comes in.”

“So why call Sam at all?”

“Because sometimes I hit, and Chuck bruises like a peach.”

Castiel groans. “Why are you so cheerful?”

“Honestly? I’m touched by the gesture, man. Have you been out there every night?”

“It’s possible.”

Dean grins wider. “That’s real sweet, Cas. You know usually I would have caught you sooner, but the tenants get weird after an… episode. For days suddenly no one will have any problems in need of fixing. No one calls, no one comes knocking at all hours. Funny coincidence. Annoying, but I’m used to it. So!” Dean slaps the back of the couch. “You ready to fill up on eggs and cheese?”

“Nothing would make me happier.”

Castiel watches as a whistling Dean puts on his oven mitts and retrieves a beautiful looking quiche from the oven. It never ceases to amaze him how warm and _loving_ Dean is. Two months ago he was a surly lumberjack looking man that spoke in tight, clipped sentences and seemed to have an allergy to smiling. Now… he’s easily amused, his floor is littered with cat toys for Sugar, and Castiel is starting to think Dean _did_ buy those smiling oven mitts himself.

Yes, Dean has a hellish nightmare past and has killed more people than Castiel saw at his last high school reunion, but… surprisingly that’s not a deal breaker. It doesn’t change how Castiel feels about Dean. He’s done his marinating as Claire suggested, and though it’s been a long time, he knows what it feels like when he’s falling in love.

Whether or not he should tell Dean, though, is still another matter entirely.

  
  


 


	16. Chapter 16

It’s nearing the end of April. Number of screaming nightmares from Dean? Zero. Number of pointless dates Castiel has been on since March? Three. Number of times Castiel has walked in on Sam having sex in the basement laundry room? Also three, unfortunately.

Right now he’s staring balefully at Sam and the Rubys as they scramble to get things zipped up and tucked away.

“I’ve been in your apartment,” Castiel says, “I _know_ you have a bedroom.”

“What’s the fun in that?” Brunette Ruby says.

“Didn’t you used to be married?” Blonde Ruby asks. “Don’t tell me you and the wife never went at it somewhere in public.”

“No… Amelia was not fond of public displays of affection, she never would have been on board with…” Castiel gestures to where Sam is helping Brunette Ruby hook up her bra.

“Sucks to be you,” Brunette Ruby says.

“Nonsense, I was happy with what we had.”

“Then why did you guys split up?” Blonde Ruby says.

“Oh come on,” Sam chides, “don’t ask him that.”

Here, Castiel falters. Claire is still not out as trans, save for to a few trusted friends, so Castiel can really only share so much of the truth. “We had a very critical disagreement about how to raise our daughter.”

“Ouch,” Sam says.

“She wasn’t willing to let Claire be Claire, and that caused irreparable damage to our marriage.”

“Couldn’t handle having a bi kid, huh?” Brunette Ruby says. “My parents were like that… total drag. Haven’t spoken to them in like a decade.”

“Worth it though, right?” Blonde Ruby says, winking.

“Fuck yeah,” Brunette Ruby says, slapping Blonde Ruby on the ass.

“I’m still here,” Castiel says, as the Rubys start kissing.

“Ain’t love grand?” Sam says, a big dopey smile on his face.

“I’m this close to telling your brother what you were doing,” Castiel says, glaring.

“Cas no, he’ll kill me!”

  
  


*

  
  


“So, that’s that. We’re still friends, and we’re definitely still going to fuck. I’m not giving up sex with that woman. You wouldn’t _believe_ what she can do with her tongue, Clarence.”

Castiel sighs into his coffee cup. He’s with Meg at her favorite cafe, and Castiel is completely unsurprised when the old woman at the next table gathers her things and moves to the other side of the room. Meg’s been going over the details of her relationship and breakup with Abaddon for over ten minutes, Castiel’s surprised she didn’t move sooner.

“So you’re still going to live together?” Castiel says.

“Yep.”

“And you’re still going to spend time together.”

“Sure!”

“And you’re still going to have sex.”

“ _Amazing_ sex.”

“And neither of you are seeing anyone else.”

“Well, she has her clients…”

“Then how, exactly, is this a breakup?”

Meg pauses, cranberry muffin halfway to her mouth. “I, uh… it just is, alright? It’s more casual now.”

“But you’re not seeing other people.”

“Look, it’s not my fault if the nuances of modern dating are lost on you, sweet cheeks.”

“I’m not sure _I’m_ the one that’s lost here.”

Meg waves a dismissive hand at Castiel. “Oh what the fuck do you know, all your dates are duds.”

“They’re not _duds,_ they’re simply not what I’m looking for.”

“Maybe your standards are too high. You can’t just step into a first date and expect to have what you had with your ex right away.”

“I’m not looking to recreate what I had with Amelia,” Castiel says, exasperated. “I just want to feel the way I do when I’m with—” Castiel cuts himself off, realizing what he’s about to give voice to.

Meg cocks an eyebrow, leaning forward with interest. “Go on.”

“No, thank you,” Castiel says primly.

Meg taps her fingernails on the tabletop, they’re almost distractingly red. “Come on, there’s something— some _one_ on your mind. Share.”

“I’d rather not, Meg.”

“Why? Is it a secret? I can _keep_ a secret, you know.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“How about you tell me whose name you were gonna say, and… we won’t talk about it at all.”

That might help Castiel get it off his chest without having to actually discuss it. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Fine. It’s Dean.”

Meg’s left eye twitches, but other than that, she doesn’t react. “So, how’s work? You poison your any of bosses yet? I don’t know if I ever told you this, but I went on a date with Lucifer once.”

“No, you didn’t mention that.”

“It was ages ago, well before Crowley. God I have fucking _awful_ taste in men… present company excluded, of course.”

True to her word, Meg doesn’t try to turn the conversation towards Dean. Instead, she talks about her date with Lucifer for twenty minutes; which is most definitely worse, because by the end of the conversation Castiel is cursed with the knowledge that Lucifer has a below average penis in both length and girth, but is exceptionally talented with his hands.

He returns home, haunted by the mental image of Meg being spanked by his least favorite boss, and immediately pours himself three fingers from the rarely opened bottle of bourbon he keeps in his underwear drawer. He downs the serving in one gulp, allowing his body to shudder from both the alcohol and the idea of facing Lucifer ever again.

Claire is gone, out with Kaia as she often is, so Castiel allows himself a moment to yell “UGH!” as loud as he can before pouring himself another drink, which he then drops as Meg suddenly bursts into his bedroom.

“Okay, I gave it my best shot, but—”

“Is it customary to _barge_ into someone’s home uninvited in California?”

“I need more information, Clarence. Just a nibble.”

“I _gave_ you a nibble, now look where we are.”

“Come on… since when do you like Dean? Or _men_? Why haven’t you made a move? He fucks guys! Or he did in high-school, anyway. Not really sure how much _dating_ he’s done since he got out of the army.”

“ _Exactly._ In the time I’ve known him, I’ve seen him go on exactly one date, with absolutely no enthusiasm, by the way. I’m not risking my friendship to explore my sexual confusion with a man who doesn't date.”

“Aw, Cas… but it sounds like you really like him… it’s gotta be worth the risk.”

Castiel starts sopping up the spilled bourbon with a bath towel. “I don’t make friends easily, Meg. I don’t want to risk it. And he lives across from me! I’ll tell him, he’ll be put off, and then I’m stuck seeing him every day.”

“What if he likes you too?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t want to risk it. Besides, even if he did… people break up, and… and—”

“‘People break up’ is a terrible fucking reason if you ask me.”

“Look, he’s important to me, I don’t want to risk that. I’ll find someone, I’ve gone on dates, I’ll go on more.”

“But—”

“I’ll find someone, and I’ll get over Dean, and everything will be okay.”

Meg frowns. “You’re bumming me out.”

“I _did_ tell you I didn’t want to talk about this.”

“Alright… alright, Cas. At least let me get you drunk, then.”

“It’s _Sunday_.”

“So? Bars are open.”

“Very well,” Castiel says following Meg out of his room.

“Hey, maybe you should give Lilith another try! She just broke up with someone again.”

“She _stole my wallet._ ”

“So? I got it back for you, didn’t I?”

  
  


*

  
  


“ _Woah,_ you look like shit.”

Castiel glares at Dean, resisting the powerful urge to bean him over the head with his shoulder bag. “You’re a large, strapping young man, shouldn’t you be taking the stairs?”

Dean shrugs. “My knees don’t like stairs that much. Did you just say I was strapping?” The doors to the elevator slide open, and Castiel shuffles inside with Dean. Why does moving his legs make his head hurt? “I’ve never seen you hungover before.”

“Maybe I’m sick,” Castiel says halfheartedly.

Dean hits the button for the first floor. “Nope. Saw Meg bringing you home last night. She was giving you a piggyback ride, you were babbling about how you could fly.”

Castiel covers his face with one hand. “Oh, how embarrassing. I don’t get drunk often… haven’t been that intoxicated in well over a decade.”

“Celebrating?”

“Just… bonding with Meg, I suppose.” The elevator pings as they reach the first floor. It’s _so loud_.

“She the one that gave you the bangin’ manicure?”

Castiel looks at his hands. His fingernails are black and glittering. “God.”

Dean is beaming. “Can’t trust anyone these days, huh?”

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel’s hangover slowly starts to clear as Monday morning wears on, though his grouchy mood doesn’t. He gets several compliments on his nails, none of them sincere. Gabriel consoles him with “at least it’s not lime green”. He fetches lunch for the partners at the usual time and brings their meals to their respective offices, then heads back to his desk. He’s halfway there when Lucifer comes hustling up toward him. Oh, wonderful.

“The deli got my order wrong, this is on whole wheat.”

“I apologize,” Castiel says without bothering to feign empathy. “I’ll make sure to double check your order next time.”

“What about _today_?”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “What _about_ today?”

“I want a new sandwich.”

“Because the bread is slightly more healthy than your usual? I’ve _had_ the whole wheat bread, it tastes the same.”

“Not to me, take care of it.”

“I’m going to take care of it by suggesting you suck it up and eat the lunch you already have.” He pauses, then adds, “Big Daddy Luci.”

Lucifer’s eyes bulge, cheeks turning red almost immediately. Big Daddy Luci is what Lucifer made Meg call him during their night of passion.

“Who… who told.... fucking damn it, I really fucking miss the timid, terrified interns, you know that?” Lucifer storms away, continuing to rant as he goes.

That was incredibly satisfying. Castiel can feel his mood lifting as he watches Lucifer stomp out of sight. He’s surprised to see Dean when he returns to his desk. Dean is playing solitaire on Castiel’s computer, but he closes the game when he notices Castiel.

“This building needs better security,” Castiel says, smiling.

Dean grins. “Getting into a secure building wouldn’t be much of a challenge anyway,” he says, and Castiel is embarrassed when he realizes that he’s a little aroused by this reminder of Dean’s skill set. “Well, okay maybe a challenge with this.” Dean pats a lidded ceramic container that’s resting atop a tea towel on Castiel’s desk.

“Oh my, what’s this?”

“Something to perk you up. Hope you haven’t had lunch yet.”

“I was just about to.” Castiel lifts the lid, there’s a delicious smelling helping of what looks like a thick potato soup, topped with melted cheese, chives, and diced bacon. “High marks for presentation.”

“Looks good, huh?” Dean stands and sets a spoon on the desk. “I’m gonna head out, gotta pick up more potatoes.”

Castiel wants to hug Dean, but he doesn’t. “This is such a wonderfully thoughtful surprise. Thank you, Dean.”

“Hope you enjoy, man,” Dean says, patting Castiel on the shoulder.

Castiel stares after Dean long after he’s out of sight, only to startle when he realizes Hannah is next to him.

“You know that man?” Hannah says, also staring in the direction Dean left.

“That’s Dean, he brought me soup.”

“ _That’s_ Dean?”

“Yes?”

“I have to show you something,” Hannah says urgently. She grabs Castiel by the hand and pulls him towards her desk while Castiel looks longingly at the container full of soup he would very much like to eat.

When they get to Hannah’s desk she brings up her e-mail account, scrolling and clicking through several pages’ worth until she gets to one from Virgil in security, sent on Valentine’s Day.

“It’s hard to tell, since you never see his face, but…” Hannah opens up a video attachment. According to the timestamp, the video was taken about fifteen minutes before Castiel usually arrives at work, and much sooner than Castiel arrived on that particular day. “Okay hold on, hold on… there!” Hannah points at the screen.

The video quality is fairly poor, but Castiel can see what she’s pointing at. A tall man in a baseball cap that obscures his face to the camera’s high angle. He’s carrying a small package and a teddy bear, and he wouldn’t be remarkable if it weren’t for his unmistakable bow-legged gait.

“That’s him, isn’t it? I mean that _walk_ ,” Hannah says, playing the video again.

“It… it certainly looks like him.”

“I don’t suppose he moonlights as a delivery boy?”

“He does not.”

Hannah, in Castiel’s limited experience, is a mostly calm, temperate woman, so he’s rather shocked when she punches him hard in the shoulder and _squeals_.

“It’s Dean! Dean’s your Valentine!”

Castiel hits the spacebar on Hannah’s keyboard to play the video a third time. “He very well may be.”

Hannah glances over toward the door to their offices, as though Dean might have reappeared. “Go after him!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hannah. We still have half a day of work to go.”

“Say you’re sick!”

“No, I… if Dean wanted me to know that was him, he’d have told me,” Castiel says.

“Perhaps he’s afraid of rejection… like you.”

“I’m not afraid of…” It’s only then that Castiel realizes Hannah is clearly aware of his feelings for Dean, even though he’s never told her. “Let’s just let it be, Hannah.”

Hannah pouts, also fairly out of character, but she nods and closes the e-mail window. “Well… at least I’ve finally solved the mystery. That’s been bugging me for _weeks_.”

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel sits back at his desk, unlidding the soup and eating a spoonful. It’s delicious, of course; warm and creamy, comforting; a baked potato in soup form. Castiel has a sandwich from the deli waiting for him in the breakroom fridge, but there’s no way it’s as good as this. He spends three minutes eating soup and not at all thinking about Dean Winchester before he sighs, places the lid back over his half-eaten soup, and walks over to Hannah’s desk.

“Hannah,” he says, not making eye contact, “please inform the partners that I have an urgent matter to attend to and will be back in a while.”

“Of course, Castiel,” Hannah says.

Castiel ventures a glance at her; she’s beaming. “Thank you, Hannah.”

Carefully, Castiel takes his soup to the fridge in the break room and puts it inside so he can finish it later, and then he runs out of the office like his life depends on it.

  
  


 

 


	17. Chapter 17

Castiel’s thoughts are a blur as he drives home, an endless stream of _DeanDeanDeanturnlefthereDeanDeanredlightredlightDean_ as his car makes its way to his building. Dean in the parking lot unloading a sack of potatoes from his car, but he stalls his movements when he sees Castiel pulling up.

“Don’t tell me you’re here for seconds,” he says. He frowns when Castiel walks over to him. “You look fuckin’ _spooked,_ man. What happened?”

Castiel is staring at the ground. He wills himself to speak. “I spent days wondering who left me that gift on Valentine's Day, hoping it wasn’t some cruel prank, wanting to believe someone out there felt that way about me. And then I let it go. I was probably never going to find out who sent it, and for all I knew it was someone whose feelings I couldn’t return.” Castiel looks up at Dean, terrified by how neutral, how _blank_ his expression is.

“Maybe whoever left it doesn’t need you to return their feelings, Cas,” Dean says, voice tight.

“But what if I _did_ return their feelings, what then?”

The mask of nonchalance collapses almost immediately, and Dean’s face cycles through so many emotions Castiel can’t keep up.

“M-maybe…” Dean’s voice cracks. He clears his throat. “Maybe they hadn’t thought about that.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know what to say at all. They stand there, not speaking, not quite looking at one another for well over a minute.

Dean finally breaks the silence. “I didn’t think you had those kinds of feelings for… for… you know. Guys.”

“I didn’t think I did either. But I do.”

“This… it doesn’t have to be a big deal, Cas. We can just—”

“Do you know how many dates I’ve gone on in the past several weeks, hoping one of them would make me feel a _fraction_ of what I feel with you? So I could stop feeling confused, stop worrying I might ruin our friendship? None of them made me smile the way you do, none of them made me feel safe and cared for the way you do… what am I meant to do with that knowledge, Dean?”

“Anything.”

Castiel steps closer, as does Dean. A bag of potatoes falls on Castiel’s feet and it doesn’t matter, because Dean is kissing him.

Dean. Bearded, gruff, funny, caring Dean.

Castiel may not have kissed a man before, but the mechanics are the same. Dean’s lips are plush and warm, and though the beard feels strange, Castiel doesn’t hate it.

Their kiss is bold and profoundly unchaste for two friends kissing each other for the first time in a parking lot. Dean wants Castiel, and he makes that clear with his lips, his tongue, the hands fisted in Castiel’s shirt. Castiel’s arms circle Dean’s shoulders, and he has the silly urge to kick one foot back, like women do in old movies.

After several long, wonderful moments, Dean pulls back and stares at Castiel; eyes wide, lips redder than they were a few minutes ago.

“Woah.”

Castiel doesn’t know what to do other than stare back. “I agree.”

“I’ve wanted—” Dean interrupts himself by pulling Castiel into another kiss.

Castiel agrees with that too.

They kiss for another minute, maybe two, before someone in a passing car shouts “GET A ROOM, HORNDOGS!” and then they pull apart, panting.

“I… I still have a shift to finish.”

“I’m supposed to unclog 3B’s shower when he gets home.” Dean is still holding Castiel shirt, and Castiel’s fingers at some point found their way to the belt loops of Dean’s jeans.

“But maybe later, we could…”

“Anything.”

Castiel nods, letting go of Dean. He takes a step back and crouches to pick up Dean’s sack of potatoes. “Alright,” he says, handing the bag over, “I’ll see you soon, Dean.”

He turns and walks to his car, legs unsteady. He can all but _feel_ Dean watching, but he doesn’t turn around. If he does, he’ll never make it back to work.

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel isn’t back at his desk thirty seconds before Hannah practically teleports to his side.

“You look a great deal more _rumpled_ than you did before you left.”

“Mm, do I?” Castiel says absently, flicking through a report Gabriel left on his desk. It’s written in _crayon,_ to Castiel’s utter dismay. 

“Catch up to Dean, then?”

“Oh yes, we had a good talk.”

“Mhmm. That’s good.”

“Please don’t tell anyone, Hannah. I’m not ready for the partners to ruin this yet.”

“Of course not. Those gossiping fishwives will be insufferable when they find out you like someone.”

Castiel groans. “Yes, they absolutely will.”

  
  


*

  
  


The rest of Castiel’s day passes at an agonizingly slow pace, so slow Castiel finds himself wishing he hadn’t come back at all. He could be with Dean right now, kissing, or doing things Castiel is apprehensive about but _certainly_ interested in trying. He spends an hour or so transforming a document from a crayon scribbled pile of Gabriel-ese gibberish into something that can actually be given to business contacts, he goes on coffee runs, picks up Raphael’s dry cleaning, and scrubs exploded chili bits out of the microwave in the breakroom. All in all, a pretty regular day.

When his shift finally ends, Castiel suddenly finds himself reluctant to leave.

That moment in the parking lot was incredible… passionate… _arousing,_ but what comes next? Do they go on a date? What if it goes the way Castiel’s other dates have gone? What kind of relationship will Dean want? What if this is only sexual to him? Are they going to have sex? Will it hurt? Should Castiel be researching oral sex techniques?

“ _Shit,_ ” Castiel says emphatically, burying his head in his arms on his desk.

“You know, I’m a great listener.”

Castiel doesn’t bother to lift his head at the sound of Gabriel’s voice. “We both know that’s not true.”

“How do you figure?”

“You turn everything into a game, you give terrible advice, and you can’t keep a secret.”

“I can keep a secret!”

Castiel turns in his chair to look at Gabriel; he’s eating from a can of plain Pringles that has “PROPERTY OF BARTHOLOMEW— DO NOT TOUCH!” written on it in big black letters.

“If you can keep a secret, why does the entire office know about Malachai getting food poisoning and ruining his pants?”

“Alright, yeah, that one’s on me. But to be fair, Malachai is a dick, and him shitting his pants was hilarious. Come on, kiddo. Catharsis is good for the soul. I’ll keep my yap shut.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Vague it up, then.”

This is such a bad idea. But Gabriel's there, and he's willing to listen. “There was a thing I wanted… and I didn’t think I could have it. But I _can_ have that thing, and now I’m scared.”

A slow smile spreads over Gabriel’s face. Castiel was definitely not vague enough. “I _knew it_.”

“Congratulations.”

“Should I be congratulating _you_?”

“Please don’t.”

“Which part is scaring you? The guy part? The ‘he’s your friend’ part? The strong feelings part?”

“All of those parts.”

“Yeah, I get that. But the only way out is through.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“Go put your mouth on his mouth.”

Go put his mouth on Dean’s mouth. Simplistic, but a good place to start. “Alright.”

“And don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.”

Castiel sighs with relief. “Thank you Gabriel, that—” He narrows his eyes. “Because telling the others now would cause you to lose a bet?”

Gabriel grins and taps his nose with one finger. Dear God in Heaven, Castiel hates this place.

  
  


*

  
  


When Castiel gets to his floor he sees Dean at the other end of the hall, pacing. It takes him a moment to notice Castiel coming toward him and when he does, he looks back and forth like he might bolt.

“Hello, Dean.”

“You’re late… you’re like forty minutes late.”

“Were you worried?”

“ _No_. I was… I was impatient.”

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” Castiel says gently, “I confess my nerves got the better of me for a while.”

Dean looks like Castiel just popped his balloon. “Cas, we don’t have to—”

“But I _want_ to, Dean. I’m just nervous.”

“I’m nervous too. I like you a whole hell of a lot, Cas.”

“Then kiss me,” Castiel says in a moment of bravery.

Dean, apparently, does not need to be told twice. He descends upon Castiel, hands gripping Castiel’s waist as he tilts his head and moves in for a kiss. It’s good, wonderful, even. Dean may vacillate between moods with haste but when he kisses, he does so with his entire being. Castiel’s eyes drift closed, and he sighs into Dean’s mouth, shuddering when he feels Dean’s tongue against his.

Foolish, Castiel is so foolish. To think he could have felt _this_ forty minutes sooner and stayed away? Absolutely foolish as always. He stumbles backward a bit as Dean moves against him, backing up until he finds himself pressed up against his door. He can hear laughter from inside; Sam, it sounds like.

“Is your brother in my apartment?” Castiel says as he breaks their kiss.

“Yeah,” Dean says, panting just a little. “I think he brought the Gamecube over. Ash is in there too… and Claire’s friends Kevin and Kaia. Video games bring kids of all ages together, you know. But uh… there’s no one in _my_ apartment.”

Castiel’s heart jumps. He’s in high school again, nervous and excited for seven minutes in Heaven with Hester Jones at Roger’s Halloween party.

He follows Dean into the other apartment, feeling bold when he closes and locks the door behind him. Dean’s on him again in seconds, kissing him, steering him to the couch and shooing Sugar out of the way.

Castiel can’t remember the last time he was kissed like this; if he’s ever been kissed like this. He lies on his back on the couch, Dean braced over him before he settles between Castiel’s parted legs. Castiel feels wanton, needy when Dean’s groin presses against his.

“Cas,” Dean mutters in a tone Castiel has never heard from him before.

In a way it sounds like a question, so Castiel nods in acquiescence. “Kiss me again, Dean.”

Dean obeys, nipping at Castiel’s lower lip, then kissing him long and slowly. Castiel knows there’s no rush, he knows they can take this slow and he trusts Dean to stop if he needs… but he wants more. He wants to hear the sounds Dean makes in the throes of pleasure, and although Castiel’s not ready for anything… _involved_ just yet, there has to be something between that and kissing that they can be doing. He rocks his hips upward, toes curling in his shoes when he feels Dean, hard and _real_ against him.

Dean breaks their kiss to move his lips along Castiel’s jaw, his neck. He bites down and Castiel finds himself moaning Dean’s name, startled and unabashed. He feels almost feverish, dizzy with want. He slips both hands under Dean’s shirt.

At this, Dean falters, pulling back and looking down at Castiel with a bit of panic. Castiel startles, pulling his hands away.

“I-I apologize, I know with women it can be untoward to… to… but you don’t _have_ breasts, so I thought—”

Dean hangs his head, huffing out a laugh. “I don’t care if you wanna feel me up, Cas. But…” Dean sighs. “Some people get kind of freaked out, uh… not that there’s been a lot of people, I guess. But. Some. And uh… yeah, they get freaked.”

Castiel has absolutely no idea what Dean is getting at. “I’m afraid I’m a bit lost, Dean.”

Dean sighs again. “This,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head. He leans back, sitting up on his knees.

The first thing Castiel’s eyes are drawn to is the pentagram tattooed over Dean’s heart, surrounded by a circle of flame. It’s thick and dark, so it’s natural for the eye to go there first. If not for the tattoo, he’d have noticed right away. All over Dean’s chest and stomach, scars. Meticulously made symbols Castiel recognizes from studies in his youth. There are a few slashes and gashes, but the sigils stand out more.

“It’s uh… it’s hard to explain to people. I mean, what can I say?”

Castiel trails his fingers along a long, curving cut along Dean’s left side. “This was… what that man did to you?”

“Yeah, he’s… well he _was,_ uh… kind of a religious nut. You learn a lot about a guy when he spends two days carving designs in your torso.”

“And he was attempting to turn you into a bird?” Castiel says, touching one of the sigils drawn on Dean’s right side.

Dean smiles. “You recognize this shit?”

“Andrealphus, sixty-fifth demon of the Ars Goetia.”

“Well look at you.”

“I grew up religious, but as a teenager I developed a fascination with the occult, demonology. My interest passed, as my ex-wife would have no association with a man that enjoyed reading about demons, but… I remember this and that. Under your left nipple is the seal of Sabnock, meant to stop your wounds from healing. This one here is Phenex, for obedience, underneath is Orias, to gain the favor of an enemy… did he believe in the power of these seals?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. Sometimes it seemed like he just enjoyed the… _aesthetic_ of them, but other times… he’d finish, and he’d… _wait._ Like he was waiting for something to happen, you know? Didn’t make sense at the time, but later… when I researched the symbols a little… made me wonder if he was trying to do fucking spells or some shit.” Dean pats a sigil near his collar bone. “But since I can’t speak to animals, I’m going to say Camio here was a bust.”

“And Asmoday didn’t grant you the power of invisibility.”

“See, he can’t have wanted to give me the power of _invisibility,_ so he can’t have believed in them, right? I don’t know, man. There are a lot of symbols. Maybe there was no method to his madness, maybe there was. Maybe he would have done all seventy-two demons given enough time.”

“Mm. Perhaps. Certainly didn’t seem to be doing them in order.”

“Anyway, so… yeah. The scars kinda freak people out. One girl thought I was a satanist.”

“I’m sorry that you have such a present reminder of that terrible experience,” Castiel says softly.

“Honestly, Cas? They’re… they’re a part of me now. I’ve had years to get used to them, the sight doesn’t bother me. But like… other people get uncomfortable. I think if it were tattoos people wouldn’t get as wigged out but… scars and all. People are put off. Or, if they’re not put off, they’re curious, and then… well like I said, I don’t really tell people about how they happened. Talking about it is harder than looking at it.”

“Well, I know where they came from.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m not freaking out.”

“Well, you haven’t seen all of it.”

Castiel’s eyes trail down to Dean’s jeans, brows furrowed.

“Jesus, _no,_ not there,” Dean says, exasperated. He gets off the couch so he can turn and show Castiel his back. There are no sigils there, no signs, no symbols. There are wings, though. They cover his shoulder blades and reach all the way down to the base of his spine.

They are at once haunting, troubling, and beautiful.

“It was the wings that made me realize I wasn’t getting out of that room alive,” Dean says, back still turned. “I mean on some level I already knew, but… but the wings, suddenly it clicked that he was doing whatever he wanted because whether I talked or not, I was a dead man. I think he probably would have even killed Benny when he was done with me. One less loose end. God knows how he planned to explain it, being separated from the unit, two dead soldiers… Jesus, I’m a real mood killer, huh?”

Castiel smiles gently as Dean turns to face him. “If you’re asking if discussing your torture has obliterated my erection, yes. But I’m okay with that. Every time you share a story I know you just a little bit better, and knowing you is what I want.”

“Yeah?”

“That and to kiss you. Which I did, and it was lovely.”

“ _Lovely_?”

“Good? Enjoyable? Is my vocabulary lacking in spice?”

Dean smiles. “I just haven’t been told my kisses are _lovely_ before, that’s all.”

“Well they are. Lovely, strong, tender, passionate.”

“Yeah, well yours are.... focused.”

Focused? “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a good thing, Cas. You make me feel… you make me feel a lot of things I’d sort of given up on.”

Dean’s staring at Castiel’s mouth, so Castiel nods enthusiastically. Within seconds Dean’s back in Castiel’s space, and they’re back on the couch, back to kissing. This time Dean’s shirt is already off, so when he crawls over Castiel, Castiel lets his hands trail up his back, feeling the raised edges of his scars. The small, shuddering gasps Dean makes as he does so are like music. The urgency from before trickles back in easily. Castiel doesn’t know how far he’s ready to go, just that he hasn’t reached his limit yet.

“You always smell like strawberries,” Dean mutters.

“I used to smell like Irish Spring, just like you, but then I got hooked on my ex-wife’s body wash.”

Dean’s hands move to Castiel’s waist, to the button on his slacks. Castiel’s heart skips what feels like several beats. “I like it a lot, maybe I should use it.”

“Th-there’s a caramel apple scent that might suit you.”

“Hmm, sounds good… can I?”

It takes a long moment for Castiel to realize Dean isn’t asking for permission to use body wash. He’s not totally sure _what_ Dean is asking, but he nods yes, and Dean starts pulling Castiel’s zipper down. He nods with a little more vigor.

“I’m a little scared,” Castiel admits. Dean’s hands pull away immediately, which… no, not even remotely what Castiel wants right now.

“Woah, woah. Why are you scared? We can stop, Cas, just being able to kiss you is kind of kicking my ass right now.”

“God, no. Don’t stop.”

Dean snorts. “Well, okay then.”

“I just meant that I’ve never done this before, so I’m nervous.”

Dean smirks. “I take it Claire was dropped on your doorstep by the stork, then?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I believed my days of sexual inexperience to be long behind me.”

“Oh man, I didn’t think ‘blushing virgin’ was a turn on for me, but…”

“I’m not blushing.”

“Yeah you are. Look, I know I’ve got parts you’re not used to partners having, but _you_ have them.”

“There are a great deal of things that men do to one another that I have not done to myself, or had done to me.”

“What, no getting pegged by the wife?”

“ _No._ ”

“She ever get your dick in her mouth?”

“ _Dean_.”

“You’re gonna be with me, Cas, things are gonna get vulgar. _Real_ vulgar.”

“Very well. Yes, she got my penis in her mouth.”

“Jesus, Cas, don’t say _penis._ We’re getting vulgar, remember?”

Castiel glares. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Dean looks like he’s having the time of his life. “That’s not how I see it. Now come on,” he says, rubbing a hand against the front of Castiel’s open slacks, not quite touching where Castiel wants.

“ _Dean._ ”

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean says, tracing a finger along the outline of Castiel’s growing erection.

“This is terrible.”

“Not all of you agrees.”

“I despise you.”

“Yeah?” Dean is so confident and playful like this, it’s wonderful. “Want me to touch you?”

“You know I do.”

Dean smirks again. “Where should I touch you?”

Castiel knows he wants something vulgar. “My _cock,_ Dean, touch my cock. _Please._ ”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Dean groans. He’s braced over Castiel with his left hand, but the right hand moves down to where Castiel is hard and needy, rubbing through the soft cotton of Castiel’s boxer-briefs. He’s slow, gentle. His fingers sneak in through the front of Castiel’s underwear, and he takes Castiel’s flesh out.

“You got any ah… ailments I should be aware of, Cas?”

Castiel stares at Dean, mystified. “I don’t have a cold, if that’s—”

Dean shakes his head, smiling wide. “Jesus, Cas. I meant like… STD’s, man.”

Oh, how embarrassing. “ _Oh._ No, nothing. I caught a yeast infection from Amelia once six years ago, but—”

Dean rests his head on Castiel’s raised knee, laughing hard. “Holy fucking shit, Cas.”

“Well, I don’t have any ailments you should be aware of. Do _you_?”

“Nah. Pretty hard to get an STD when you aren’t having sex. Just wanted to make sure before I went down on you.”

Despite the awkward conversation, that statement has adrenaline rushing from Castiel’s chest to his toes.

“Well, that’s… that’s good to know.”

“Cool. Tell me to suck your dick, Cas,” Dean whispers, stroking Castiel’s shaft.

“Oh o-oh, okay… yes. Suck my dick, Dean.”

“Well, if you insist.” Dean’s tongue darts out to flick against Castiel’s cockhead once, twice, then Castiel is being engulfed by the damp warmth of Dean’s mouth. Castiel throws his head back against the couch, legs jerking in shock.

Dean is… _voracious._ His head bobs enthusiastically, tongue working against Castiel’s shaft. His big, _strong_ hands are spread over Castiel’s hips, and every time Castiel feels Dean’s beard against his thighs he feels electrified. Dean moves back so he can pull at Castiel’s pants and underwear until they’re around his knees then leans forward again, doing something _devastating_ and twirly with his tongue.

“Gonna have to get condoms at some point. Lotta stuff we gotta try,” Dean says, jacking Castiel’s spit-slick length. “You close?”

Castiel is dazed, and it takes him a moment to answer. “Close to… oh. Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Good, wanna see that,” Dean says, fingers dipping into the cleft of Castiel’s ass, rubbing against his hole.

Forget being afraid, Castiel wants it… he wants it so badly he lets out an embarrassing whine and comes onto Dean’s hand, his cheek, his _beard_. Castiel sighs as his body relaxes, letting his eyes close for a brief, savoring moment. Dean leans his head against Castiel’s knee, and then he’s groaning and muttering a curse or two.

After a moment he sits on his heels, and Castiel realizes he’s come too, jeans half open, boxers damp.

“You must really enjoy giving oral pleasure,” Castiel says, tongue feeling lazy and heavy.

Dean gives Castiel an absolutely salacious grin. “Pent up, I guess.”

“That was incredible, Dean. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to _thank_ —” Dean smiles and shakes his head. “You’re welcome, Cas. My pleasure… obviously.”

  
  


*

  
  


After a few minutes spent cleaning up and a change of clothes for Dean, they’re back on the couch, outright staring at each other.

“So…” Castiel says after probably a minute of silent staring. “What comes next?”

“Condoms and lube?”

Castiel can feel his cheeks flush. “I-I meant… ah… other than… that…”

“Oh. _Oh._ Well, I’m not sure. I don’t date much.”

Castiel’s heart sinks. “So… you would like to be sex friends?” Meg uses the term “fuck buddies”, but Castiel can’t bring himself to say that out loud.

“No? No, no, that’s not what I meant. I just meant I don’t really know what’s supposed to happen next… with me being your first guy, and both of us being uh… rusty.”

“Perhaps you should give me your class pin to declare your intent,” Castiel says, batting his eyelashes.

“We could change our Facebook status to ‘It’s Complicated’,” Dean tries.

“I have five Facebook friends, that might be pointless.”

Dean grabs his phone off of the coffee table. “Really? Who?”

“Claire, Ruby, the other Ruby, Sam, and Hannah from work. Hannah is the one who realized you were my Valentine, I expect she’d be excited.” Castiel takes out his phone as well. “I had a different profile, in my old life. Fifty friends, mostly people I went to school with. Mostly people I never actually spoke to after they added me as a friend. I am not someone that needs a large social circle, I suppose. I had my wife, my best friend Roger, my child, perhaps a few people from church. That was all I needed.” Castiel updates his Facebook status to “It’s Complicated”, surprised that Dean’s suggestion actually _does_ feel significant.

“What were you called back then?”

“Jimmy.”

“Hmm,” Dean says, staring at his phone. “I think I like Castiel better.”

Castiel smiles as a friend request from Dean Winchester pops up. “I think I do too.”

  
  


*

  
  


Dean shows Castiel how to make homemade mozzarella sticks and dipping sauce, and it’s very enjoyable. Dean is attentive and patient as he always is in the kitchen, but now it’s… _more._ Talking low in Castiel’s ear, kisses on the cheek, Dean’s hands on Castiel’s waist, Castiel tasting sauce from Dean’s fingers. They make a sizable batch, then they bring the mozzarella sticks and a few bowls of sauce over to Castiel’s apartment, where they’re hailed as heroes for bringing gaming fuel. No one mentions the Facebook statuses, so Castiel doesn’t have to answer any questions just yet.

Castiel tells Claire he’s going to watch a movie with Dean, warns her not to stay up late on a school night, and laughs when Dean jokingly gives Sam the same warning. Then he follows Dean back to his apartment.

“So, you really wanna watch a movie?” Dean says.

Castiel shrugs. “We could?”

“Did you have something else in mind?”

“Watching a movie would be nice, but I would also like to… cuddle.”

“Cuddle? I can cuddle. I’ll cuddle the fuck out of you, Cas.”

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel spends his evening curled up with Dean and Sugar on the couch, watching Cast Away on cable and feeling utterly content.

  
  


 


	18. Chapter 18

Castiel wakes alone in a comfortable bed. He hasn’t seen much of Dean’s room since he and Dean became acquainted, so he’s a bit surprised to be waking up in it. Dean must have carried Castiel in here after he fell asleep, which is… an appealing thought. He digs his phone out of the pocket of his slacks, noting that he managed to wake up five minutes before his alarm went off. He has a few texts from Claire that he missed last night, all of them about Claire wanting more mozzarella sticks. He smiles, shaking his head and pocketing his phone again as he takes in his surroundings. There are more of Dean’s paintings in here; a rosebush where each rose is painted with a palette one would more likely use for painting flames, snow falling on a desertscape, a koala playing a banjo. The eclectic mix of subjects makes Castiel feel warm.

When he realizes he smells bacon he smiles wide and rolls out of bed.

Dean is piling two plates with eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns when Castiel gets into the kitchen. He feels this urge to go up and wrap himself around Dean from behind, but he can’t help but think that wouldn’t be a wise thing to do with a combat veteran who has PTSD.

“Permission to engage?” Castiel says.

Dean’s shoulders jump, but only a little. “Roger, Echo One, you are clear to engage,” Dean says in a very serious tone.

Castiel smiles, sidling up behind Dean and wrapping his arms around his waist. “Good morning, Dean,” he says, kissing the back of Dean’s neck.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.”

“Smells good.”

“For you and Claire, if she’s still home.”

“She should be.”

“In that case…” Dean steps away and grabs the two filled up plates. “Off with you.”

Castiel accepts the delicious smelling burden. “You could join us,” he says, walking toward the door, toeing his shoes on along the way.

“Can’t, gotta see what’s wrong with the stove in 2D. Told them I’d be right down after some _very_ important business,” Dean says, grinning as he steps in front of Castiel to get the door for him.

“Well, breakfast _is_ the most important meal of the day.”

Dean rushes ahead to open Castiel’s door too, then his hand stalls on the knob. “Can I uh… when can I… when can we see each other again?”

Castiel’s heart leaps. “I could come over after work.”

“I could make dinner.”

“I could eat it.”

Dean grins and opens the door. “See you tonight, Cas.”

When Castiel gets inside, Claire is at their dining table with what looks like a fresh bowl of cereal. When she looks up and sees Castiel she beams and shoves her bowl of cereal to the side.

“ _That’s_ what I’m talking about.”

Castiel sets the plates on the table and grabs two forks from the kitchen before joining Claire, who is already lifting a slice of bacon.

“The man can _cook,_ ” Claire says.

“Hey now, I helped make those mozzarella sticks last night.”

“Which part?”

“I mixed breading, chopped herbs, rolled the sticks, the whole sheblam.”

“It’s _shebang_.”

“Indeed.”

Castiel’s about halfway through his meal before Claire speaks again.

“ _So._ ”

“So?” Castiel looks up, and Claire is holding her phone, his Facebook profile on the screen. “Oh.”

“This is a lazy and very 2009 way to announce this.”

“I’m a coward.”

“Nah, if you were a coward you wouldn’t announce it at all, right?” Claire grins. “I’m kind of… really damn happy for you, Dad.” She sniffles, and at first Castiel thinks it’s a joke, but her eyes _are_ a bit watery.

“Is my vague Facebook relationship status moving you to tears?”

“ _No._ Well, yeah. Kind of. I just… I know we’ve talked about this, and I’ve talked about it with Kaia, and Dr. Mills, but… there are still days where I feel like I kind of… ruined your life.”

“Claire…” Castiel honestly thought they were past this, but he supposes sometimes negativity refuses to fade.

“I know, I know what you’ll say… but you’ve got this job you hate and you had all those total dud dates, and some days I can’t help but think that if it weren’t for me you’d have your old job, and a wife, and your old friends, and…”

“Oh, Claire. I think part of the problem is that you’re idealizing my old life. It was not perfect. Your mother and I did not have a perfect marriage, and my old job was _profoundly_ boring. My bosses now are annoying, invasive brats, but I’d say it adds spice. I’m building friendships here, rediscovering old interests. Dean or no Dean, I like this life that I have now, Claire, and watching you blossom and improve so much in just a few months has been one of the greatest joys of my entire life.”

“Well... well okay, then.” Claire’s crying, but she’s smiling.

  
  


*

  
  


When Castiel gets to work, Hannah is at his desk, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Hello, Mr. Complicated.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Good morning, Hannah. You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“Far be it for me to disrupt your newfound happiness by throwing you to the wolves’ den of office gossip.”

“Oh, good. That can certainly wait.”

“How do you feel?” Hannah asks, voice genuine.

“Nervous, inexperienced… _happy_.”

“That’s wonderful, Castiel.”

Castiel sighs in genuine contentment. “It is.”

  
  


*

  
  


“Did you know,” Lucifer begins, signing the contracts Castiel put in front of him, “that when you have your Facebook page set to public, _anyone_ can see your profile?”

Oh, hell. “Is that a fact?”

Lucifer doodles a little pitchfork on the corner of one page, as he often does. “It _is_ a fact.”

“Why were you Facebook stalking me?” Castiel says, borrowing the term from Claire and hoping he’s using it correctly.

“I knew you weren’t as straight as you said,” Lucifer says instead of answering Castiel’s question, “I’m just so glad I could help you realize you were attracted to men.”

“Are you trying to take _credit_ for my sexuality? Being attracted to a man helped me realize I’m attracted to men. Not _you._ ”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, a true hero doesn’t need any thanks.”

Castiel yanks the contracts away, and Lucifer’s pen leaves a long black line across the bottom of the page. “This is why no one likes you, Lucifer.”

“The important thing is that I like me just fine,” Lucifer says, pretending to inspect his cuticles.

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel’s day is… irritating. Lucifer apparently won whatever bet the partners had going so he’s insufferable, Gabriel is a sore loser so _he’s_ insufferable. Then there’s Malachai, who apparently strongly opposes same sex relationships and has been giving Castiel the hairy eyeball all day. People have been congratulating Castiel all day as well, which is somehow even less fun to deal with than Malachai’s festering homophobia. In the afternoon, Castiel texts Meg to say that he’s going to burn his office building “to the fucking ground”, not realizing he actually texted Claire until she responds to tell Castiel that his salty language is not a good example to set for today’s youth.

Underneath the aggravation and the deep regret for updating his Facebook status, however, Castiel feels good. He’s going to see Dean when this day is over, and that’s what matters most.

On the drive home Castiel is giddy with anticipation. He uses his car’s ancient tape player to listen to the only cassette he has; a copy of the first Britney Spears album that neither Castiel or Claire bought, but somehow ended up in their things between Illinois and California. The tape gets to “Born to Make You Happy” just as Castiel pulls into the lot for his building, and he idles in his parking spot, singing loud and likely off-key to lyrics he’s apparently memorized at some point. He sings the entire song, killing his engine after the final notes play. He glances absently out the window and yelps; Dean is crouched by his door, grinning wider than Castiel thought physically possible.

Castiel sighs, unbuckling his seatbelt and taking his keys out of the ignition. How humiliating.

“I’ve gotta say,” Dean says as Castiel exits the car, avoiding eye contact, “you sing with _passion,_ Cas. Was that Britney Spears?”

“If you were a gentleman, you’d do the kind thing and pretend you didn’t witness that.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t a gentleman, Cas.”

“Play it cool all you want, Dean, but we both know you were out here waiting for me.”

Dean’s grin instantly slips into something more embarrassed. “No I wasn’t. I was out here doing… you know. Landlord stuff.”

“Mhm,” Castiel says, walking towards the building. “Routine parking lot inspection, right?”

“Yeah. Gotta make sure the uh… yellow lines are still yellow.”

“Of course, Dean.”

  
  


*

  
  


After stopping at his apartment to change clothes, drop off his shoulder bag, and endure a great deal of teasing from Claire and Kevin, Castiel makes his way across the hall, knocking tentatively even though five minutes ago Dean told him to just come in when he’s ready.

“Really?” Dean says when he opens the door.

“It feels rude to walk into someone’s home willy nilly.”

“Willy nilly?”

“What’s that lovely smell?”

“Beef stew. Not sure if that’s good date food, but it’s been in the slow cooker all day, getting warm and tasty.”

“Mmm, let me at it,” Castiel says, marching toward the kitchen.

“Not so fast,” Dean says, slipping an arm around Castiel’s waist, holding him back. “Rolls in the oven, they need a few more minutes.”

Castiel nods, leaning back against Dean. “I suppose I can wait. I am hungry, though. I was going to eat the rest of the soup you made me at lunch today, only to find the container empty save for a slightly damp ten dollar bill. I assume it was Gabriel.”

“Woah, that guy needs some manners.”

“I quite agree. But on the plus side, I’m up ten dollars.”

Dean kisses the back of Castiel’s neck. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“Mmm, alright…”

“You’re warm,” Dean mutters, breath tickling Castiel’s ear.

“It’s California,” Castiel says, tilting his head so Dean can lay kisses down the side of his neck.

It feels forward, brazen, but he pushes back against Dean, backside pressing into Dean’s groin. Dean lets out a soft, gorgeous gasp, nipping at the tender skin of Castiel’s neck, just above the collar of his t-shirt.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, shuddering with want.

Dean wraps one arm around Castiel’s chest, the other drifts lower, hand skimming against Castiel down to where the fabric of Castiel’s jeans is starting to strain just a little.

There’s a soft _ping!_ and Castiel can feel Dean smiling against his skin before he pulls away.

“Rolls are ready!” Dean proclaims, whistling as he walks to the kitchen.

Castiel takes several _long_ seconds to compose himself, then follows.

  
  


*

  
  


Dean’s stew is delicious, of course. The hearty flavors remind Castiel pleasantly of home. Not the house Castiel shared with Amelia and Claire, but the home Castiel grew up in, the cream colored house with the white picket fence. Castiel painted red stripes on one of those pickets as a child, right near the gate. He’d wanted it to look like a candy cane, but it looked more like a barber shop pole. Castiel’s parents had punished him for the vandalism, but they never painted over it. Castiel drove past that house on his way out of Pontiac, and even with his parents long gone and a new family living there, the stripes are still there.

“You look sad,” Dean says, nudging Castiel’s foot.

“It’s your fault,” Castiel says, “your delicious stew made me feel nostalgic and homesick.”

“Where is home?”

“Just across the hall,” Castiel says smiling. “But also, my childhood home back in Illinois.”

“You grow up in one house all your life?”

“I did.”

“I used to be real jealous of kids like that. I always had somewhere to live, but not the same place all my life that I knew like the back of my hand. Bet you had notches by the front door showing how fast you were growing.”

“Kitchen, next to the fridge.”

“God _damn,_ that’s so wholesome.”

“I’ve led an arguably wholesome life, I suppose. Church every Sunday, neighborhood rummage sales in the springtime, backyard camping during summer break.”

“It sounds… what’s the word?”

“Idyllic?”

“Yeah.”

“Only until you start to see the cracks.” Castiel inhales the aromas from his bowl before taking another bite.

“What kind of cracks?”

“For one, my county was conservative, and my part of town wasn’t particularly diverse. When I was eleven, my friend Roger’s parents got divorced, and his father moved to Arkansas. Our loving community rather pitied and ostracized Roger’s mother until she remarried a good, Christian man and went back to having a good, normal family. I didn’t know about that for years. Oh, there was a girl I liked that I had to stop dating because my parents found out her parents were atheists. My grandparents on my mother’s side were… _profoundly_ racist. I was told my only uncle died of a heart attack when I was fourteen, and when I was eighteen I found out he’d actually died of a heroin overdose.”

“ _Damn_.”

“Cracks. It’s odd discovering your perfect life really wasn’t. I love and miss my parents dearly, but they would have been horrified by my divorce, and my bisexual atheist daughter.”

“And you getting a blowjob on my couch last night.”

Castiel snorts inelegantly. “That too. I’d like to say that they would have gotten past all that and accepted me because they loved me, but… when I think about how my wife, how my community reacted to Claire… well, I’m not so sure.”

“I think it’s kinda cool.”

Castiel is confused. “How so?”

“Well, it sounds like you grew up surrounded by a lot of joyless bigots, and yet look how you turned out.”

Castiel feels himself blush a little. “That’s… a wonderful way to look at it.”

Dean grins. “Eat your stew, Cas.”

  
  


*

  
  


After dinner, Dean unfortunately gets a call from Sam, who needs a jump on his car battery. Castiel is a _little_ disappointed, but he supposes not every date needs to end with him waking in Dean’s bed. He goes back to his own apartment after a heated goodnight kiss from Dean, and makes a beeline for Claire’s bedroom to make sure she had dinner. He can hear laughter coming from the open door; Claire and one of her friends, he assumes, so Castiel walks in.

He is… not prepared for this.

Claire is on her back in her bed, staring up at the girl straddling her; Kaia. Neither of them are wearing shirts.

Castiel stands frozen, brain desperately working to process and discard what he’s seeing so that he can flee, but then Claire sees him. She scrambles to sit up, and Kaia tumbles off the bed.

“Dad!”

“Oh, oh God, I am… I’m…” Castiel covers his eyes with one hand. “I didn’t… I thought—” He turns to run out of the room, but since he has a hand over his eyes he runs right into the door frame, and then he’s on the floor, hand aching, blood gushing from his nose.

“JESUS CHRIST!” Claire shouts.

Kaia comes scrambling over, only halfway into her shirt. “Holy fuck. It’s okay, it’s not that bad,” she says, pulling Castiel’s hand from his nose. Whatever she sees makes her scream and recoil, and then she pulls her shirt off and holds it up to Castiel’s nose, even though her shirt is very light in color and all this blood is _never_ going to wash out.

Claire’s finally gotten off the bed, shouting “Dad! Jesus FUCK!” over and over, _far_ too loud for the sudden and throbbing headache Castiel has.

“OH MY GOD DAD I’M SO SORRY DAD NOTHING REALLY HAPPENED KAIA WAS JUST SHOWING ME THAT MY BODY WAS OKAY WITH HER EVEN IF IT DIDN’T LOOK— YOU KNOW AND IT WAS JUST REALLY SWEET AND THEN WE— OH MY GOD DAD IS IT BAD IS IT BAD SHOULD WE CALL AN AMBULANCE DAD I THOUGHT YOU’D BE AT DEAN’S ALL NIGHT DAD I’M SO SORRY—”

“Holy _shit._ ”

All three of them turn and Dean is standing there with a _baseball bat,_ and Castiel has given up all hope of following whatever it is that’s happening. Dean looks at Claire, who is still quite bare-chested but has at least stopped screaming. He opens his mouth, a confused look on his face, then closes it and looks down to where Castiel is still on the floor.

“I’m uh… I heard screaming. Like, a lot of screaming.”

“We’re fine, everything is fine,” Castiel says, even as he’s bleeding all over Kaia’s shirt. “I ran into the wall trying to escape an uncomfortable moment and have created an even worse one.”

Dean comes closer, then crouches and picks Castiel up in a bridal carry.

“You don’t need to—” Castiel starts, but Dean interrupts.

“I bet. Kaia, get a wet washcloth. Claire, do you have any tampons…” Dean grimaces. “Or, uh… Kaia.”

“In my bag,” Kaia mutters, face an impressive shade of red.

“Right!” Claire shouts. “To put up his nose!” She grabs a backpack off the floor and dumps it on her bed while Kaia runs out of the room, chanting “ _fuckfuckfuck_ ” all the way to the bathroom.

Dean carries Castiel out to the couch and Claire comes running out with two tampons as Dean sets Castiel down. Together Dean and Claire stuff tampons right up Castiel’s aching nose, and when Kaia brings the washcloth, Dean gingerly wipes the blood away from Castiel’s face.

“Sam is waiting for you,” Castiel mumbles.

“Yeah, well I’ll tell him I was late because my boyfriend broke his fucking face,” Dean says. He winces. “Uh, not… _boyfriend,_ I mean you’re a boy, a _man,_ and my friend. It’s only been one date, I know we’re not boyfriends. Are you too old for me to be calling you my boyfriend anyway? Partner? It doesn’t matter.”

Castiel smiles, which hurts. “After our next date perhaps we can discuss our age appropriate labels.”

Dean grins, then Castiel hears twin declarations of “ _awww!_ ” from next to them.

“Uh… we’re going to go put shirts on,” Claire says when Dean’s grin turns to a glare in her direction. “Come on,” she says, pulling Kaia toward her room.

Castiel hears the door close, and then Claire yelling “OH MY GOD KAIA KILL ME NOW JUST KILL ME RIGHT THE FUCK NOW” before their conversation slips down to a less audible level.

“So, uh…” Dean starts, wiping Castiel’s chin. “Claire, she um…”

Castiel nods. “Yes.”

“This is why you left home?”

“We wanted a fresh start.”

“And this is why you and your wife…”

Castiel frowns. “She wanted us to act as though Claire were broken, sick, in need of curing… when the only thing making Claire sick was living as someone she wasn’t. So… my life with Amelia ended, and I was blessedly granted custody, and we left.”

“Wow, Cas, that’s…”

“Claire is the most important thing in the world to me.”

“She’s lucky to have you, man. I mean that. I wish my dad had been more like you when I was younger… which I guess is a gross thing to say to a guy I prematurely labeled as my boyfriend… God damn, I’m fucked up.”

“You’re not going to call me ‘Daddy’ the next time we’re intimate, are you?”

“ _Dude._ You suck. And no.”

“My face hurts.”

“Yeah, buddy, I know. Hold on.” Dean disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a bag of frozen corn. He holds it to the bridge of Castiel’s nose, smiling affectionately.

“Dean, Claire’s not really… _out_ to anyone other than myself and a few close friends.”

“Don’t worry, Cas. I can keep a secret. Anyway, so your nose ain’t broken, but I want you to hold this here for ten minutes, then get one of the girls to bring you some Advil.”

Castiel smiles. “Okay, Dr. Dean.”

“I’m gonna go help Sam, then I’ll be back, okay?”

“Will you bring me ice cream?”

“I _just_ fed you.”

“But I’m _injured,_ ” Castiel says with a pout.

Dean stares at Castiel’s mouth for a moment. “Man, I bet you’re a fucking nightmare when you have the flu.” He kisses the top of Castiel’s hair and heads out.

“He forgot his _bat,_ ” Claire says, coming out of her room. “Are you okay?”

“I need Advil.”

“Medicine cabinet?” Kaia says, dashing to the bathroom when Claire nods.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Claire says, shaking her head.

“It was horrific. I should have knocked. I just… assumed you were studying. Or talking. Or… not that.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“You needn’t be sorry. I mean… seventeen is younger than I was when—”

“Dad, _no,_ oh my God can we skip this part? You don’t need to tell me about my changing body or talk to me about condoms.”

Claire is a young woman in a relationship with another young woman, so condoms hadn’t actually crossed Castiel’s mind. He supposes he thought if Claire identifies as female she wouldn’t be… using… dear Lord, Castiel is so very out of his depth.

“I confess I assumed you wouldn’t be um… since Kaia is a lesbian, and you’re… I thought… um—”

“Oh Jesus, _please_ stop talking.”

Castiel puts his face in his hands, letting out a sad whimper when the action hurts his nose and moving the bag of corn back onto his face. Kaia comes over with two Advil and a glass of water, which she hands to Claire. She’s dressed to go, bag slung over her shoulder.

“See you tomorrow, beautiful,” she says, kissing Claire on the cheek. She gives Castiel a sincerely apologetic glance before she disappears out of the apartment. Claire watches her go, smiling faintly.

After a moment she turns her attention back to Castiel. “I’m sorry,” she says as Castiel takes his Advil. “There’s a lot of stuff I’ve worked through with Dr. Mills, and I forget that you don’t automatically just know about it.”

“It’s alright, it’s not necessarily my business.”

“Maybe… but a lot of it is just so _awkward_ to bring up. But, uh. Since we’re talking about it… being able to present as… _me,_ that’s helped a lot with… well, everything. I don’t resent my… I’m okay with…” Claire sighs. “I have a decent _relationship with my penis_. _Ugh._ And Kaia, she’s uh… open to um… but we’re not going to go that far. I mean we haven’t been together that long and I’m still a virgin, and… uh… anyway, you don’t need to worry about me knocking up my lesbian girlfriend or anything.”

“That’s… good. I’m glad you’re being responsible about this.”

“Well _I’m_ glad I don’t have to relive that horrible day when I was fourteen and you decided it was time for The Sex Talk.”

“I thought I did a good job at being informative,” Castiel says, affronted.

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t _excruciating,_ Dad.”

  
  


*

  
  


Claire’s back in her room by the time Dean comes knocking, so Castiel peels himself off the couch to answer the door.

“I brought treats!” Dean says cheerfully, holding up a bag with the Harvelle’s logo. “Vicodin and chocolate ice cream!”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “Is that a flavor?”

“Gift from Blonde Ruby, leftover from getting a wisdom tooth hacked out.”

“Oh _bless_ her, this Advil is doing nothing.”

“Yeah, I’ve been smashed in the face more than a few times, it’ll be way more manageable tomorrow.”

Castiel accepts the pill bottle from Dean. “Anyone ever tell you you’re an angel, Dean?”

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel’s nose is still noticeably injured when he goes to work the next day, and no one but Hannah believes him when he says “I literally ran into a door frame”. Instead the office concots all sorts of theories, mostly revolving around the idea that Castiel was in some sort of fight and lost. He’s not sure why the truth seems so far-fetched to them; maybe because everyone is bored.

He wonders why they all assume he _lost_ his imaginary fight.

  
  


 

 


	19. Chapter 19

Time passes.

Claire and Castiel spend a few days mostly avoiding eye contact, but they get past it. Castiel spends a few nights a week curled up on Dean’s couch with him, and on those nights Claire often “happens” to invite Kaia over. They mostly hang out in the living room, but Castiel gets better at knocking before going into Claire’s bedroom.

Dean hasn’t made a move on Castiel since The Incident. He _thinks_ Dean is waiting for him to make the first move, but he’s not sure. He’s also not that great at being forward, and every time he thinks about taking their sweet, lazy kisses on the couch to the bedroom, he chickens out and waits until he’s back in his own bed to find release to the memory of Dean’s mouth on him. That night it had been important to Dean that Castiel say what he wanted. He’s likely feeling that way now, but Castiel doesn’t know for certain. He supposes he _can’t_ know if he doesn’t actually ask Dean.

It’s a Friday in the middle of April. Castiel is pulling into the lot of his building, and he’s feeling determined. Okay, yes. He’s afraid he’s going to be terrible at man-on-man sex, that he’ll hurt Dean, or himself, or be awkward, or choke on Dean’s… _cock,_ but he has to start somewhere.

He doesn’t know that he’ll use them, but there’s a paper bag in the seat next to him with a new bottle of Astroglide and condoms. He has a fresh clean bill of health from his doctor. He’s going to go to Dean’s apartment, he’s going to tell him what he wants.

After a shower. And brushing his teeth. And making sure Claire is set for dinner. And he ought to do something with his hair. Maybe he should do some more reading about sexual positions for the seventh night in a row.

… Damn it.

He’s horrified, but not surprised to see his living room full when he gets home. Tonight it’s Claire, Kaia, Alex, Ash, and Brunette Ruby hollering at the television. Despite Sam, Dean, and Ash all having better TVs in their apartments, for some reason it's Castiel’s living room that often turns into Game Central.

There’s a massive plate of nachos on the coffee table, it looks like it just got set out. Whatever game they’re playing can only have four players at a time, so Alex is wolfing down nachos while she waits for a controller from whoever loses the current match, as Castiel has learned is standard procedure. He greets everyone, feeling paranoid that they somehow know what he has in the paper sack stuffed in his shoulder bag.

“Dean made _nachos,_ ” Claire says by way of greeting. “They smell so good, but I haven’t had time to try them, since I’m kicking everyone’s ass.”

Everyone groans, and Alex chucks a balled up napkin at Claire’s head. Castiel smiles. It was never like this back in Illinois. Even when Claire had a friend over, it wasn’t so lively, so joyful. This building, the friends Claire brings from school, it feels like a warm, welcoming community, the sort of thing Castiel used to expect Claire would find in their old church.

“I need a shower, Gabriel spilled orange juice on me and I’m still sticky,” Castiel announces to the room.

That’s a lie. Castiel is being ridiculous. He could have simply said he was going to take a shower, no one would have grilled him about why. He _knows_ he’s being ridiculous, but that doesn’t stop him from stuffing his bag of sexual paraphernalia into his underwear drawer before taking a nervous, unnecessarily long shower.

When he comes back out he’s in a pair of jeans, and a black t-shirt. His hair is toweled dry, his teeth are clean, and he has three condoms and the bottle of Astroglide in his front right pocket.

“So, is Dean home?” Castiel says, trying and failing to sound casual. More ridiculousness; everyone knows about he and Dean anyway.

“Home and waiting for you, _Lover Boy,_ ” Brunette Ruby says.

“Gross,” Claire says, eyes trained on the screen.

“Well, the home part is true at least.”

Castiel nods and heads out, nerves going a little haywire.

He’s not surprised Dean is at home instead of with everyone else. Dean loves feeding people, loves taking care of them, but he rarely seems to want to stick around in the larger groups. When he does join in on their games, though, he wins every round. Dean has incredible hand-eye coordination.

He knocks on Dean’s door, muttering the line he wants to say over and over as he waits. “Dean, I want you. Dean, I want you. Dean—”

The door opens, and Castiel’s jaw drops.

Dean is there, same old Dean. Same faded black Led Zeppelin t-shirt, same pair of dark blue jeans with a hole forming at the right knee, same devastating green eyes, but… no beard.

Castiel’s seen him without the beard, of course, in a few photos in both Dean and Sam’s apartments, but those were pictures, and old ones at that. Dean is crushingly beautiful with or without a beard, but the newness of this has Castiel’s brain short circuiting. He can’t even remember why he’s here.

“You, uh… beard.”

Dean touches his chin absently, looking shy. “I was trying to trim it, then Sugar clawed my leg and I fucked it up… and then I kept trying to fix it but it kept getting worse, so I got pissed and shaved the whole thing off. I feel fuckin’ naked.”

“You look nice,” Castiel says as he steps into the apartment.

“Yeah?”

“Younger. Less intimidating.”

“I _like_ looking old and grizzled. People don’t bug you as much.”

“You never looked old and grizzled, just more rugged.”

“Rugged, huh?”

“Like a sexy lumberjack.”

Dean grins. “Nice. What am I now?”

“A sexy… something else. A TV star, or a model, or… or an apartment manager.”

“Sweet talker.”

Castiel remembers why he’s here, what he came to say. “I want you, Dean,” he says before he loses his nerve.

Dean’s eyes widen, and he licks his lips in a likely unconscious gesture. A subtle, but satisfying reaction. “Beardless face _really_ does it for you, huh?”

Castiel furrows his brows. “Why on _Earth_ would that be a deciding factor?”

“Uh, well I shaved my beard, and then you said you wanted me.”

Castiel takes the bottle of Astroglide and the condoms out of his pocket, holding his hands out to show Dean.

“Or,” Dean says, looking at Castiel’s items, “you came here with a plan.”

“It’s not a _plan_ , I’m just… letting you know what I want, in case you didn’t know. Because… well you haven’t tried to… anything.”

“Well, figured I should wait for your nose to heal.”

“It’s _been_ healed.”

“And waiting for you to be ready.”

“I’ve been ready.”

“I didn’t wanna make you feel pressured to do stuff. I haven’t had sex in ages, I’m not in a rush. Are you in a rush?”

“No, but… I’m worried that I’m going to be terrible, so I would really like to get started so I can improve.”

“Holy shit,” Dean says, scrubbing a hand over his face, “this is _fucking,_ Cas, not a math test.”

“I’m aware. I want you, Dean, but I’m worried I’ll do it… wrong. You’re experienced at this, and I’m… not.”

Dean nods, considering. “What if you didn’t have to do anything?”

“While I don’t know what sort of things you’re into, I have to assume it wouldn’t be very enjoyable for you if I were to lie on your bed like a corpse.”

Dean grins, slow and predatory. He locks the front door, and Castiel’s heart jumps. “You’d be surprised, Cas.” He kisses Castiel’s cheek sweetly. “You trust me?”

Castiel is nervous, because it almost sounds like Dean _does_ want him to lie on his bed like a corpse, but he knows his answer. “I do.”

“Cool.” Dean takes Castiel by the hand that's not holding condoms and lubricant, pulling him toward his bedroom.

Sugar is sleeping on the bed, so Dean scoops her up, deposits her outside the room, and closes the door. He takes Castiel’s items and sets them on his nightstand.

“Shoes, socks,” Dean says.

Castiel toes off his sneakers, then crouches to pull off his socks.

“On the bed,” Dean says. His voice is soft, but firm. It’s inexplicably settling Castiel’s nerves. He obeys, crawling onto Dean’s bed. “Okay, first…” Dean pulls a paper out of his nightstand, and he hands it to Castiel, who skims it long enough to see that Dean is officially not teeming with sexually transmitted diseases. So he’s _definitely_ been thinking about this too.

“I have one of these too,” Castiel says enthusiastically. He’d put the paper in his back pocket and completely forgotten about it by the time he arrived at Dean’s apartment. He hands it over to Dean, who glances at it for a fraction of a second before tossing it to the side.

“So, one important thing to know, Cas, is that not everybody likes anal sex. It might start off feeling weird, or awkward, or even painful, but it’s supposed to eventually feel good, and if it _doesn’t,_ you gotta say something, okay?”

Castiel can feel his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Okay.”

“If you don’t like it, I’m not gonna feel hurt, or mad, okay? It’s important you know that. We’ll stop and do something else.”

Castiel instantly feels a weight leave his shoulders. “That is… kind of a huge relief, Dean, thank you.”

Dean grins. “Figured since I’m the experienced one here I should tell you all the shit I wish I’d known when I started sleeping with guys.”

“I take it you don’t like... um… bottoming,” Castiel says, trying the phrase out and feeling _ridiculous._

Dean’s grin grows. “Hell no, I fucking _love_ getting fucked… but there was a guy, years and years ago… he didn’t like it. We had sex with me topping _five times_ and he didn’t tell me he didn’t like it, and when I finally found out… it just got weird and uncomfortable knowing he hadn’t liked how it felt, and he thought something was _wrong_ with him because he was gay and kind of a twink, but didn’t like getting fucked.”

Castiel’s not completely sure what a “twink” is, but he understands the gist of the story. “I promise to tell you if I don’t like it.”

“Awesome. And if you don’t, remember that _I do_ , and even beyond that there are plenty of guys that date and just do hand and mouth stuff, and that’s okay.”

It’s odd, getting a talk like this when Castiel’s in his late thirties, but he’s still profoundly grateful.

“Now,” Dean says, walking to his closet, “shirt off.”

Castiel takes his shirt off, and when Dean turns back around he’s holding three ties. Castiel is shocked, he had no idea Dean actually _owned_ a tie, let alone three. Then Castiel realizes what the ties are for, and he bites his lower lip.

Dean is incredible. Castiel is terrified of doing something wrong, and Dean is taking that possibility out of the equation.

Castiel’s never been tied up before, but he’s certainly open to it. With Dean, anyway. Lilith had mentioned wanting to tie Castiel up, and the prospect had been legitimately terrifying. He looks from the ties in Dean’s hand to Dean himself and nods, lying on his back and stretching his arms out. Dean circles the bed, tying Castiel’s wrists to his bed frame, separately. If Castiel’s being honest, this is already arousing him.

“Is the third one a gag?” he asks.

Dean looks startled. “Uh… it wasn’t… did you _want_ it to be?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Either way, it’s not. Another time, maybe. For now it’s better if you can talk clearly, you know?” Dean says, securing the tie over Castiel’s eyes.

_Oh._

A shudder runs through Castiel as his vision is cut off.

“You look really, really good like this, Cas,” Dean says. The bed dips on the right, and then Dean’s lips are pressing against Castiel’s, tender at first, then a little more demanding, then his tongue is in Castiel’s mouth and Castiel jerks in his simple restraints, body pulsing with want as he’s reminded that he can’t sit up, can’t put his arms around Dean, can’t _see._ He squirms, arousal boiling inside him.

Dear God in Heaven, Castiel wants this so much. Dean’s hand is tight in Castiel’s hair, and he likes it. This kiss is good, it’s so good, but with the restraints, the blindfold, it’s _more._

It’s incredible, which makes it all the more crushing when Dean’s oven timer goes off. Dean huffs out a laugh, resting his forehead against Castiel’s.

“Right… I was baking fuckin’ taquitos.”

Damn, Castiel had assumed the delicious smell in the apartment was simply the lingering scent of Dean’s nachos.

“Okay, well… I gotta go serve these, they’re expecting them across the hall. Don’t want anyone to come knocking.”

“N-now?” Castiel says.

“That okay?”

“I… I suppose.”

“Alright.” Dean’s weight leaves the bed, and Castiel listens for the sound of his footsteps walking away, but instead he hears Dean taking deep breaths.

“What are you doing?”

“Just trying to, uh… calm down.”

Castiel smiles. “You were enjoying yourself.”

“Of course I fucking was!” The timer beeps again, and Dean groans. “Okay, okay, gotta get those damn things. Don’t go anywhere.”

Castiel rolls his eyes behind the blindfold.

Dean whistles as he walks away, the sound growing more distant as he heads into the kitchen. Castiel listens to the sound of his footsteps, the beep of the oven timer, the hollow clank of a cookie sheet being pulled out of the oven. A minute or two passes, then Dean’s cheerful whistling is cutting off with the click of the door.

Almost immediately, Castiel feels something fall on or against the bed. “Dean?” Castiel says, even though he knows Dean isn’t in the apartment. There’s no response, of course. Castiel turns his head left and right, which is silly, because he can’t _see_ anything. After a moment he feels something small and cold nudge at his bare side. He tries to squirm away, and then he feels what is unmistakably a cat crawling onto his stomach.

Oh.

“No, Sugar,” Castiel says firmly. Sugar, of course, does not budge. Castiel tries to twist his body to the side to make her get up, but she just makes herself comfortable, purring softly as she curls up on Castiel’s stomach. He sighs, relaxing against the bed. Maybe he should just be grateful she doesn’t have her claws out.

Another minute passes before Castiel hears the sound of the apartment door closing and being locked, then and indistinct clatter in the kitchen, then footsteps, then a sigh.

If Castiel didn’t know any better, he’d think the sigh sounds… pleased. Smug, even. “You’re not taking photos of me, are you?” He says to what is hopefully Dean.

“No,” Dean says. A pause. “Why, can I?”

“Another time, perhaps.”

Dean lets out a soft, happy little hum at that, then Castiel feels Sugar being lifted off his stomach, and after a moment he hears the door to the bedroom close.

“How do you feel?” Dean says.

“Ready. Ish.”

“Ready enough to lose the pants?”

Castiel smiles. “Not if you’re expecting me to take them off myself.”

The bed dips with Dean’s weight, and Castiel feels his breath catch when Dean pops the button of his jeans. “Still ready?” he says, pulling the zipper down slowly.

Castiel bites his lower lip and nods. “Still ready.”

Dean gets his hands in the waistband of Castiel’s jeans, and Castiel lifts his hips so the jeans can be pulled down.

“Loving the long briefs,” Dean says, plucking at where they rest over Castiel’s thighs.

Castiel feels his cheeks heat. “I believe I mentioned the shorter briefs bunch uncomfortably.”

“Don’t worry, Cas, you’re making them look good.” Dean’s hands smooth along Castiel’s thighs, thumbs teasing the edges of Castiel’s returning erection. “But, I think I’m gonna take them off of you. Sound good?”

Castiel nods. “Yes, yes that does sound good.”

Dean works the long briefs down, over Castiel’s knees, past his calves, off his feet, and then Castiel is completely bare save for Dean’s ties around his eyes and wrists. He wonders how he looks right now, what Dean sees. He wonders what _Dean_ looks like right now.

Not knowing, though, is rather exciting. It heightens the utter _newness_ of this experience.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters. He sounds awed, reverent. “I’m not even sure what I want to do first.”

Castiel’s heart makes strong efforts to leap out of his chest. He hears some rustling, Dean removing clothes, maybe. Then Dean’s lips are kissing along Castiel’s hip bone. The kisses are slow, savoring, going lower and lower until Dean’s tongue is swiping at the head of Castiel’s cock. Castiel’s hands involuntarily attempt to move towards Dean’s head, but of course they can’t.

“Ah… ah… _Dean_ ,” Castiel moans, toes curling as more of him goes into Dean’s mouth. Dean says something in response, but his mouth is too full of Castiel for the words to be intelligible. He has a tight grip on Castiel’s hips, but after a moment he starts smoothing his hands up Castiel’s sides, to his chest. His thumbs tease at Castiel’s nipples, just enough to have him squirming, cock twitching in the warmth of Dean’s wonderful mouth.

After a minute or so, Dean pulls off.

“You, uh… you okay with kissing?”

At first Castiel is confused, because why wouldn’t he be? But after a moment he understands why Dean is asking, and he nods. “You’re very considerate.”

“Hey, some people get squeamish about kissing if I’ve had my mouth on their fun bits.”

“I enjoy kissing you far too much to let something like that get in my way.”

Dean pats Castiel’s hip. “Same, for future reference.” He nudges at Castiel with what feels like a pillow, and Castiel doesn’t understand. “Up, up,” Dean says until Castiel lifts his hips.

“Will you teach me at some point?”

“What, like on a banana?”

“That would be strange.”

“I think learning by doing is the way to go. Don’t worry, Cas. In my experience as long as you don’t bite down it’s pretty hard to really mess up a blowjob.”

“Let’s hope so,” Castiel says, gasping softly when he hears the sound of the Astroglide bottle being opened.

“You worry too much,” Dean says, guiding Castiel’s legs to part.

Oh Christ, it’s happening.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect, it doesn’t have to be _the best I ever had,_ it just has to be _us_ , feeling good together.”

Castiel actually feels an emotional lump form in his throat at that. It’s a beautiful sentiment, really.

“Alright,” Dean says, voice taking on the tone he gets when he’s teaching Castiel to cook, “remember what I said before, you gotta tell me when you don’t like something. It’s not the end of the world if you don’t like it, it’s not even the end of the night. Like I said, I’m a _big fan_ of bottoming.”

Castiel pokes at Dean’s jean-clad legs with one of his toes. “Hmm, and what if I do like it? Will you still let me have you, Dean?”

Dean’s fingers tease along Castiel’s testicles, and Castiel shudders. “Hell yes, Cas. We could do it right fucking now. I could finger myself open while you’re trapped and waiting, then I could ride you, hard and fast until you’re shouting my name.” Castiel hears Dean’s zipper being opened. “You want that, Cas?” he says, thumb dragging through the smear of precome gathering near Castiel’s stomach.

“Later… later… I want to know what this is like, first.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean says, slick fingers teasing where Castiel has _never_ been touched in a sexual way. His finger rubs at Castiel’s hole for well over a minute, and just as Castiel starts to wonder if he’s going to do more, the finger pushes in.

Castiel chews on his bottom lip, considering. It feels… odd. Not bad, but not quite sexual, either. He can’t help but worry that Dean is watching his reaction and finding it lacking, but he endeavours to relax as Dean starts kissing along his shaft, working the finger deeper in little shallow thrusts.

They spend a few minutes like that, Dean thrusting his finger inside Castiel and kissing wherever he can reach on Castiel’s body, pausing once or twice to add more lubrication. It’s when Dean starts to work in a second finger that Castiel starts moaning. Nothing loud, just soft “mmm” sounds that he can’t help but make as his body stretches and relaxes under Dean’s attention. When Dean’s fingers rub against Castiel’s prostate, the soft sounds get louder.

“Dean,” Castiel all but whimpers.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Don’t stop.”

“Cool,” Dean says, moving his fingers apart inside Castiel.

It takes quite a while to get Castiel ready. He coasts on mild feelings of pleasure, the sound of Dean’s slowly elevating breathing. It’s a little hard to tell since he can’t see, and he’s not used to this, but he’s fairly certain Dean is up to four fingers when his hand moves away, and the kisses along Castiel’s hips stop. Castiel hears rustling as the bed shifts.

“H-how do you feel?” Dean says, voice cracking just a little.

“Nervous,” Castiel says. “Interested. You?”

“Yeah, I think… I think nervous and interested works for me too.”

Castiel’s heart jumps at the crinkle of the condom wrapper. This is it. Castiel is going to have sex with Dean, he’s going to do something a lot of his old friends would consider a sin.

He can’t wait.

He can feel Dean between his thighs, warm and bare as he gets into place. Castiel wants to look up at him, wants to run his fingers along the beautiful and damaged landscape of Dean’s torso, but of course he can’t. It is as frustrating as it is relieving.

Still, Castiel’s heart beats harder while Dean manhandles him into position, while he trails kisses up Castiel’s chest and neck. He’s never had _this_ much intimate attention lavished on him, and it’s a heady feeling.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, voice strained, deeper. Castiel can feel the fat, latex-covered cockhead teasing at his hole. “You still on board?”

“Yes,” Castiel mutters once, or maybe a dozen times.

“Cool.”

Castiel can feel Dean pushing, pushing, then breaching him agonizingly slow. He knows his own mouth is hanging open, but he’s forgotten how to close it. This is so different from Dean’s fingers, Castiel feels filled, surrounded. He breathes in Dean’s scent, trying to ground himself. He feels ready to fly apart. The restraints are too much right now.

“Dean?” Castiel says as Dean pulls back and rolls his hips forward.

“Right here, Cas.”

“The ties…”

Dean halts immediately. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No. _No._ The ties, can we lose the ties?”

He hears Dean chuckle. “No problem.” He shifts, cock pressing into Castiel in _just_ the right way as he unties Castiel’s wrists. “Damn, boy,” he hisses.

Castiel is confused until he feels Dean’s fingers against his apparently sore wrists. “Oops.”

“Want the blindfold off?”

“Not yet… I just needed…” Castiel puts both hands on the back of Dean’s head, pulling him in for a kiss. Dean moans into the kiss, hips rocking gently, cock slowly sliding in, out. Their kiss continues as Dean builds a rhythm. He has one hand underneath Castiel, one hand braced next to them. Dean is everywhere.

Every time Castiel feels pressure near his prostate his toes curl, and he can’t help but gasp, moan. He’s never heard himself sound this way; breathless and vulnerable as Dean’s gentle rocking turns to smooth, firm thrusts. He moans Castiel’s name and brings their lips back together. They kiss like that for another minute, and then, emboldened by the tie still around his eyes, Castiel pushes at Dean’s hips until he pulls out.

“You okay?” Dean says, sounding a little out of breath.

“Mmm, yes,” Castiel says. He sits up, then turns over so he can get onto his hands and knees. “I wanted to try… like this.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Dean groans, palming at Castiel’s backside. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He dips his thumb into Castiel’s body briefly, and Castiel can feel him getting into place behind him.

Already this position feels more base, more brazen. “Fuck me, Dean,” Castiel says, feeling silly with the words until Dean all but growls and grips Castiel’s hips with both hands.

“Yeah? You want that, Cas? You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes. _Yes._ ”

Dean moves back inside Castiel with a rough shove, and some high, desperate sound claws its way out of Castiel’s throat.

“Fuck, _Cas_ ,” Dean groans, setting up a fast, _strong_ pace, pistoning in and out of Castiel like a machine.

Excitement and adrenaline roll through Castiel’s body. This is so base, so carnal. This is Dean _fucking_ him, they’re fucking.

“Fuck,” Castiel mutters once, then again, louder. “ _Fuck_.” Castiel wants more. After a couple of minutes he braces his hands on the bed, shoving back against Dean and forcing moans out of both of them.

“Ah, shit, Cas. Yeah, that’s it.”

They crash together, over and over, bodies growing damp with sweat. Castiel is warm now, warm enough that he opts to pull off the sweat-damp tie still wrapped around his face.

“Fuck, I’m getting close, Cas,” Dean says. He slows his movements until he’s stopped entirely, then he pulls out. “On your back.”

Castiel gets onto his back again, biting his lip when he finally gets a look at Dean. His face and neck are flushed, he’s glowing with sweat. He looks incredible. Castiel gets the pillows back underneath himself so Dean has easier access, and then Dean is throwing one of Castiel’s legs over his shoulder and sliding back inside. Castiel can’t help but cry out this time as Dean moves inside him. He’s shocked and delighted by how much he’s enjoying this.

He pulls Dean down into a kiss, loving the way it stretches the muscles in his thigh. He’s more flexible than he realized.

Dean kisses him thoroughly, letting out a series of beautiful whimpers into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel is immersed in the kiss, in the feeling of their warm, slippery bodies moving together, so when Dean says “Touch yourself, Cas”, it takes Castiel several long moments to understand what Dean just said, and what he means. He nods, reaching down to take himself in hand.

Oh… oh, that’s _good_. Castiel groans, body tensing as it starts rushing toward an orgasm. He’s getting loud, he knows, but it’s hard to control when he feels this good. He comes with a shout, one arm and both legs wrapped around Dean, head thrown back, body shuddering. Dean buries his face in Castiel’s neck, growling out a few choice curses and biting down as his body jerks forward, hard. The sensation of Dean’s teeth in Castiel’s skin pulls a full body shudder out of him, and he groans again, letting his eyes fall closed.

  
  


*

  
  


He doesn’t realize he’s drifted until he wakes, still naked, Dean snoring gently on top of him. It’s been over a year since Castiel last had sex, but he doesn’t remember ever passing out quite so easily before.

He’s not sure how much time has passed, but he’s no longer warm and sweaty, and his heart isn’t racing, so it must have been a while. Good Lord, Dean is heavy.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers.

Dean mutters something, but he doesn’t move.

“ _Deeeeean_ ,” Castiel says, louder.

“Mphgl…” Dean replies.

Castiel smiles, trailing his fingers up Dean’s sides and tickling. Dean yelps, rolling off of Castiel.

“No. _No. Bad_ Cas.”

“You were squashing my organs,” Castiel says, wincing in disgust when he realizes Dean’s condom has come off and gotten stuck to his thigh. “Alright, I need to shower.”

“In the Man-on-Man World, it’s considered polite to go around reeking of sweat and come. If you shower, you’ll be dishonoring me.” Dean says it with such authority that for a second Castiel actually believes him.

“Come on,” Castiel says, grunting and getting off the bed. He wrinkles his nose and peels the condom off his thigh. Appalling. “We’re showering.”

“Hey! Don’t look so grossed out. Getting the condom stuck to you is special! It’s like getting the wishbone at Thanksgiving!”

“You can’t expect me to believe that,” Castiel says. He tugs at Dean until he whines and gets up.

“I’m the experienced one here, Cas, you have to defer to my expertise. By the way, you came first, which means you have to sleep in the wet spot.”

“You’re revolting.”

“Sweet talker,” Dean says. He slaps Castiel’s backside and Castiel jumps, turning to glare at Dean’s downright _feisty_ grin.

They share a handsy shower that’s more groping and kissing than washing and scrubbing. Dean has so many kinds of kisses; from gentle pecks, to hungry, passionate bombardments… Castiel is addicted to them all.

At one point Dean catches Castiel’s eyes lingering on his scars and he smiles, quizzing Castiel on the various symbols carved into his beautiful body. He seems so… light. Happy. Youthful. The fact that Castiel had a part in that is so… remarkable.

Later, when they’re back in Dean’s bed, Dean curls around Castiel from behind, sighing with contentment as he squeezes Castiel tight.

“I’m so glad I moved here, Dean,” Castiel whispers.

Dean doesn’t say anything, but Castiel can feel the responding grin against the skin of his shoulder.

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel wakes smiling, Dean still wrapped around him. It takes some patience, but he manages to free himself without waking Dean. He heads to the bathroom to empty his bladder and steal a swig of mouthwash. Sugar is curled up on the couch, and when she sees Castiel she yawns and rolls onto her back. Castiel wants to reach out, rub her soft, furry belly, but he knows this is a trap. He’s fallen for this before. She’ll invite Castiel to pet her stomach, and then as soon as he tries to stop she latches on with claws and teeth. Dean should offer his guests some sort of protective gloves.

Castiel drifts into the kitchen, wondering what he could make with his still incredibly limited culinary skills. He opts for bacon, eggs, and toast. Things that are hard to mess up.

He messes all three up.

The scrambled eggs are painfully overcooked, the bacon somehow looks burned on one side and raw on the other, and Dean’s toaster was apparently turned all the way up, so the toast is charcoal by the time it pops up. Castiel never should have tried this. He glares down at the two plates of awful food, wondering if he really wants to inflict this meal on himself, let alone Dean.

He’s just decided to throw the food away and pretend he was never in here when two arms wrap around him from behind.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

Castiel smiles, leaning back. “Good morning, Dean.”

“I see you made breakfast.”

“That’s a generous way of putting it.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Dean says, squeezing.

“I’m glad you think so,” Castiel says, heart skipping as Dean starts laying open mouthed kisses along his neck. “Can you help me remake this? But... edible?”

“We could do that… or…” Dean’s hand is grazing the front of Castiel’s boxer-briefs.

Castiel shudders, pushing back against Dean, smiling at the hardness he feels. “You have my attention… and I see I already have yours.”

“Got myself ready while you were in here _disgracing_ my kitchen.”

“Ready?”

“For you,” Dean says, nipping at Castiel’s ear.

 _Oh._ Ready. Castiel is blown away by how _sensual_ Dean can be. He could get very, very used to this.

“You game?” Dean says.

Castiel nods, turning to kiss Dean. “Absolutely.”

  
  


*

  
  


It’s both different and incredibly similar to having sex with a woman; with Amelia. The motions of his body are mostly the same, the joy of connection, but the angles are a little different. Dean’s body is thicker, firmer. Plunging into his lube-slicked hole certainly feels different. Not better, _certainly_ not worse, just different.

Dean himself is incredible. He’s determined to surrender himself to this moment, and once Castiel finds his bearings, finds a rhythm, Dean truly gives in. He’s beautiful with his eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back, beautiful when he stares into Castiel’s eyes; open, vulnerable. Castiel takes him slowly, distracted with kissing the scars he can reach, tracing his tongue along Astaroth, then kissing away the lone tear that escapes Dean’s right eye.

Later, another time, Castiel will take Dean as Dean had him last night; fast, hard, sinful. For now, though, he’d rather be like this.

They reach their pleasure slowly, quietly, and it’s somehow one of the most intense and wonderful experiences of Castiel’s entire life.

  
  


 


	20. Chapter 20

It’s about a week later when Castiel comes home to find Blonde Ruby sitting at the table, looking somberly at Claire. Claire’s right hand is submerged in a bowl of ice water. There are scrapes and bruises on the left side of her face.

His worst nightmares come to life in that moment. “Claire?”

Claire looks up, eyes sheepish, but not very distressed. “You should see the other guy.”

“Who did this to you?”

“Guy from school.”

“I’ll let you two talk,” Ruby says. She gives Claire a gentle punch to the shoulder. “See you later, slugger.”

“What _happened_?” Castiel implores as Ruby leaves.

“Well, a bunch of us decided to go see a movie. So, we all got in Alex’s car and headed to the theater, and then we were in the parking lot and this woman gets out of her car, only she’s trans, and…” Claire sighs. “She wasn’t _passing_ , and Alex’s dumbass boyfriend Henry starts fucking _snickering_.”

Castiel’s a bit surprised. He knows Claire’s school has its share of intolerant youths, but Claire is careful about who she’s friends with.

“And Henry says ‘That guy’s not fooling anyone’, and he does that sometimes, you know? Like he thinks because he’s bi he can mock other people that are… you know. Queer. Like… he makes offensive lesbian jokes about me and Kaia and expects us to laugh, shit like that. And I’ve been getting so tired of it, and… that woman _heard him,_ Dad. I saw the way she flinched… and then… and then I punched Henry in the face.”

“ _Claire._ ”

Claire looks down at the bowl of ice water. “I told him not to tell you, but… Dean’s been teaching me how to fight. Just a little. He said he’d sleep better knowing I knew how to defend myself. Point is, it was a _good_ punch. But then I was so fucking surprised that I’d actually gone and hit him that I forgot to like… defend myself. So he punched me back and I went down easy, got all scraped up from the parking lot. Then everyone started yelling at him for hitting a girl, and he started yelling at me, asking what my problem was, and I fucking _told him_ what the problem was. So… like I outed myself, loudly. Krissy and Josephine were there, and they didn’t know I’m trans… and Alex had never told Henry… so then Henry said he was glad to hear that, because it meant he didn’t hit a _real_ girl, and then _Alex_ punched him.”

Claire smiles at that, then seems to remember she’s telling a serious story and goes back to looking a bit more grim.

“I have no idea if he’s gonna tell people. He has no reason not to. Especially seeing as I cold-cocked him.” Claire takes her hand out of the bowl, and sets it on a dry dish towel. “I’m not ashamed of who I am. I’m not. I might wanna do hormone replacement therapy down the road, maybe surgery someday, maybe not… but for now I’m good with _me,_ and how I look. But I hate the thought of having to deal with other people’s reactions. All upset like Mom, or too many questions, or like Kevin was _too_ nice at first because he thought he needed to compensate for how others might treat me… he’s a dork. Even the positive reactions are kind of draining. I wish it was just… boring. Like… ‘oh, Claire is trans. Big whoop.’ I wish it could be like that. I don’t want to deal with everyone being weird.”

Castiel feels like his heart is going to shatter as he tries to force the next words out. Claire is his number one priority. Always. “Do you… want to leave again?”

Claire shakes her head vigorously. “No. _No._ I’m glad we left Pontiac, I’m glad we got a fresh start, and I’m glad I got to leave James behind in Illinois.”

It’s the first time either of them have said that name in ages… Castiel is surprised at how disconnected he feels from it.

“But we can’t drop everything and leave every time someone reacts badly to me, you know? There’s no perfect place to be trans… someone is always going to have a problem with that. Especially since… judging by your old pictures I might be passing less once I hit my mid-twenties. If I don’t do HRT. Anyway. I like the lives we’ve made here, Dad. I like my friends, and this apartment, and _Dean._ I’m not giving this up, and I don’t want you to either.”

Castiel smiles, making no effort to conceal his relief. “How did you get so… grown up?”

“You know I _just_ punched a guy for saying something I didn’t like…”

“Still. You’re very logical about this. Very mature.”

“Having a therapist helps a lot,” Claire says with a grin.

  
  


*

  
  


Henry doesn’t end up spilling Claire’s private business to anyone. Castiel has no idea why, but he’s also not sure it’s his place to ask, either. Claire’s resilience is remarkable. Within a few days she seems to have forgotten the incident for the most part. Castiel certainly didn’t bounce back so easily when he was her age, and he wasn’t dealing with anything like what she’s going through. He knows Claire’s afraid sometimes. If they go somewhere new, Claire is apprehensive about using the bathroom. Sometimes she hunches in on herself near groups of men. More than once Claire has seen a story about a trans woman being attacked or worse and had to skip school for a mental health day. But for the most part, she’s content. By the time summer comes, she’s down to seeing her therapist only twice a month.

Meanwhile, things with Dean are… incredible. He has a way of making Castiel feel _cherished,_ and it sometimes takes his breath away. There is so much love that emanates from a man Castiel had initially written off as cranky and unfriendly. Some of that change is purely because of Castiel, according to Sam. And Ruby. And Other Ruby. And Chuck. And Ash.

And eventually Dean himself.

It’s a temperate day in June. Claire and Kaia have absconded with Castiel’s car for a trip to the beach.

Dean is having a down day.

It happens. Sometimes he just wakes up unhappy. He says it’s a PTSD thing, not a big deal, something he’s used to, something he knows will pass, but it’s still hard to watch. The spark in Dean is subdued on those days, his smiles are so much harder earned. Often he prefers to be left alone on those days, and Castiel has quickly learned to not take it personally.

Castiel’s considering calling Meg to see if she wants to do something when there’s a knock at his door. It’s tentative, definitely Dean.

“Hey,” Castiel says, opening the door. “I thought you were having… a bad day.”

“I am.” Dean’s wearing an old t-shirt, boxers, and a ratty bathrobe. If he still had his beard, he’d look just like Chuck. “I just… I thought maybe instead of sulking alone, I could… um… sulk with you. If that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, feeling touched. “My place or yours?”

Dean shrugs. “Just put a meatloaf in the oven.”

Castiel smiles. “Your place, then.”

Dean nods, timid, and Castiel follows him across the hall. The movie Stardust is on Dean’s TV, paused near the beginning. It’s one of Dean’s go-to comfort movies, sometimes he even plays the soundtrack when he’s having trouble sleeping.

They sit together on the couch, not speaking, just being together. There are more of Dean’s paintings on the walls than there used to be. New ones. He’s painted Castiel, Claire, Castiel’s awful car… A few of them are up in Castiel’s apartment, and he’d take them all if he could. Castiel’s never actually seen Dean paint, never so much as seen an easel in the apartment, but he knows it still happens regularly. There’s an always-locked janitorial closet next to the laundry room in the basement, and Castiel’s almost positive that’s Dean’s “studio”, though he hasn’t asked. It’s Dean’s space of therapy, peace, it’s not really any of Castiel’s business. Still, Dean’s art makes Castiel feel… well, it makes him _feel_.

By the time the movie is halfway through, Dean’s lying with his head in Castiel’s lap, head turned toward the TV, Sugar sleeping on his stomach. Castiel would be content to spend every Saturday like this, watching this sweet movie, running his fingers through the short strands of Dean’s hair.

“I’m in love with you,” Dean says softly. Castiel’s fingers stall a moment, then he continues, trying to be casual while his heart is suddenly slamming around inside his chest like a hamster on amphetamines. “I kind of thought I was too broken for this kind of thing after… after. I love Sammy, of course, I love dad, but that’s hardwired into my DNA at this point.”

He rolls fully onto his back so he’s looking up at Castiel. “I guess it wasn’t a big deal after a while, not feeling that way. Even with what I went through, I got off light compared to a lot of people that go over there… but… yeah. I guess I kind of thought I was done feeling that way. I went on a date once in a while, but things never really went that far. And then you showed up, and… anyway, there it is. I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. I think it every day and it’s dumb that I haven’t told you. You make me happier than I’ve been in a long time, Cas, even if it doesn’t seem like it on days like this. And you don’t gotta… you don’t have to say anything. I just really wanted you to know.”

Dean’s trying to look passive, but Castiel can see the trepidation there. He understands. It’s hard to be the first one to say it; Dean is a much braver man than Castiel.

“As it happens, I’m very much in love with you too.”

“Oh thank _God,_ ” Dean says so loudly that Sugar wakes up and darts away. “Uh… I mean. Okay. That's cool.”

Castiel grins. “Very smooth.”

Dean’s blushing, but he pulls Castiel’s free hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles tenderly.

Castiel sighs happily, enjoying the feeling of Dean’s lips on his skin. To have this love freely given, to know Claire is safe and happy when less than a year ago the two of them were uncertain and miserable in a lonely apartment back in Illinois... Castiel feels truly blessed.

“Well,” Dean says, unpausing the movie, “I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He flashes Castiel a coy grin before rolling on his side to face the television.

Castiel resumes carding his fingers through Dean's hair, closing his eyes to savor the soft, contended sound he draws out in response. “I am too, Dean.”

  
  


THE END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well, here we are, at the end. Yeah my endings are always kind of abrupt. Sorry about that. 
> 
> As I've said plenty of times, this story has been a bit of an emotional nightmare to produce and post, to the point where maybe I'm a little messed up from it, but there were so many scenes I wanted to share with people and I'm glad I finally got to see reactions to poly!Sam's tiny t-shirt and Cas running face-first into a wall, among other things. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your comments as I posted chapter after chapter the past few weeks, I know I rarely respond, but I always read them, I'm always jazzed to see those notification e-mails. Finding out a chapter had someone laughing their way to an asthma attack or hearing about a couple reading my fic together, or learning the story cheered someone up on a bad day, that always means the world to me. I don't say that enough, how grateful I am. 
> 
> (p.s: Take a moment to put your pronouns in your Twitter bio, Cis Twitter Fam. It takes two seconds, it helps normalize the practice of not assuming gender identity, and it upsets bigots.)


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